Before the Storm
by bluRaaven
Summary: Driven by something he cannot explain, Wulfryk travels to Skyrim, the homeland of his ancestors. Instead of the desired new beginning, he finds trouble - and dragons. Struggling to find a purpose in life, he will make both friends and enemies. A companion fic and not-quite prequel to my other story, 'High Tide'. Both can be read seperately. M rating is mostly to be safe.
1. Introduction

First off, let me welcome any new readers - and welcome back the old ones! 

21.08.2013: There's been a small change; I've decided to move the Introduction to this story, as this is the first story in what shall be the 'Blacktyde Chronicles'.

English is not my native language. If you spot any mistakes, grammatical or orthographical, feel free to point them out! I do hope my commas won't get the best of me! I'll gladly accept reviews, recommendations, corrections and criticism (as long as things are kept civil).

At last, thank you for reading. Enjoy!

* * *

**Everybody who is already familiar with the world of Skyrim, you can just skip the following text. The story starts with the next chapter.**

Those of you who aren´t – this is meant as a short introduction into the world of Skyrim. Don´t worry, there´ll be no spoilers.

Skyrim is the northernmost country of Tamriel and home of the Nord, a stern and tough people who value honour and loyalty above all else. There are many similarities between the Nord and the people of medieval Scandinavia. 'True' Nord are tall, with fair skin, blue eyes and blonde hair which they often let grow long and braid intricately. And let´s not forget the beards, - for the men! Men and women enjoy the same social standing.

Although the population mostly consists of farmers, fishers, hunters, miners, masons, smiths, - simple folk - most Nord are warriors at heart, who believe that if they hold on to honour in life and prove their mettle, their souls will ascend to Sovngarde and the Hall of Valor. There they will be forever happy (bored, is more like it) and drink mead, while performing 'contests of physical prowess' (there´s nothing like an all-out, everlasting, drunk brawl where you never have to face the consequences of massive alcohol consumption or a fist in the face).

As a rule, most Nord fear and distrust magic – and they have good reason to! This brings us to the other inhabitants of Tamriel. First, there are the Imperials, the cosmopolitan, civilized and well-educated citizens of Cyrodil. Their Empire is based on the Roman Empire, and though it wishes to control Tamriel it seems content to leave the people their customs and traditions.

The second most important people are the Altmer, the High Elves who hail from the Summerset Islands in the south. And this is where the trouble starts, because some few hundred years ago the elves decided to conquer and submit all other races - who didn´t take it very well. Their magical aptitude made the Altmeri nearly unstoppable; they even came as far as Skyrim. Ironically, the High Elves' staunchest opponent was the Empire which managed to annihilate their forces in Skyrim and Cyrodil in what was later to be known as the Great War. Both sides bore heavy losses and thus forged an uneasy allegiance, called the White-Gold Concordat.

Other, for this story less significant races are the Woodelves (Bosmer), Darkelves (Dunmer), Bretons, Redguards, Orcs (Orsimer), Khajit – a feline race native in the southern deserts and the Argonians, lizard-men.

(I´m not going into any details here, you can always look it up if you are interested)

Because of these past events, most Nord despise the elves, believing them and their magic to be evil. There is another reason for their hatred. One condition of the White-Gold Concordat outlawed the worship of the God Talos. There are nine gods, one of them was Talos, a human hero-turned God. The elves didn't like the idea of a human god and so they insisted upon routing his worshippers. The Empire agreed – mainly because there wasn't much room for bargain and now Talos worshippers are being prosecuted – and executed. The Thalmor – as Altmeri agents are called – are in charge of stamping out Talos' worship. There is hardly any Daedra worship in Skyrim. Deadra princes are powerful, god-like beings from the realm of Oblivion and most are considered to be evil. (I guess most people would simply call them demons)

Skyrim has nine major cities and a multitude of smaller settlements and villages, though vast regions are uninhabited and wild.

Each city is governed by a Jarl. From among themselves the Jarls choose a High King, the ruler of Skyrim. Until recently Torygg had been the High King, but he got challenged to a duel by Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm. Ulfric killed – some say murdered – the High King using the ancient power of the Thu'um, the Voice. With proper training and dedication it is possible to learn the language of dragons and their words of command, which unleash terrible magical powers. Only the dragonborn (dovahkiin), mortals with the soul of a dragon instinctively know how to use the Thu'um.

Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude, should have followed as High – um.. – Queen, but Ulfric thought he had the better claim and thus started the Stormcloak Rebellion. Ulfric wishes to free Skyrim of the yoke of the Altmeri Dominion and to return Skyrim into the hands of the 'true sons of Skyrim', thus breaking the Empire's hold. He wishes to legalize the worship of Talos and to drive out –well pretty much everybody except for the Nord. The Stormcloaks are patriots and racists. Elisif, on the other hand, sympathizes with the Emipire. She believes that the Altmer can only be defeated by the joint forces of the Empire and of Skyrim. The prosecution of Talos' worshippers is a necessity that needs to be endured – for now. I guess I should mention that the Stormcloaks value poor people a lot more than the sympathizers of the Empire, who often treat them like trash.

Most of this story will take place in Whiterun, an important trading town to the south of Skyrim. Ruled by Jarl Balgruuf it is also home to the Companions, a legendary guild of warriors with a dark secret...


	2. Chapter 1

**Regrettably, I don't own Skyrim. Bethesda does.**

WARNING: If you have any trouble with the following topics: graphic violence, homosexuality, sex in general, coarse language, or other-worldly religion, please refrain from reading this fanfic.

* * *

Wulfryk's head banged against the hard wood of the bench he was lying on, as the carriage hit another hole in the road. Outsch. He could count the number of holes by the amount of bruises that were forming on his temple. It was hardly his favourite pastime, but there was little else he could do, ever since he had been captured and tossed onto the carriage four days ago, like he was some common criminal. Which he wasn't. Most of the time, anyway.

Wulfryk lay motionless, his eyes closed against the bright sunlight, listening to the creaking of the wheels and cursing the day he had set out on this venture. A few months ago it had seemed like a great idea. Start anew, build a life. What on, he wasn't quite sure. But he had left the hot sands, the azure see and all those hauntingly beautiful emerald oasis of Elsweyr and travelled north, through Cyrodiil and along the border to Hammerfell, steering north, towards the homeland of his ancestors. Skyrim. Although Wulf was a Nord he had never seen the country that his father used to tell him so many stories about. Maybe they had never been real; the Divines knew his father had liked to indulge in a bottle. Or half a dozen.

It had been just him and his father, who had left his birthplace over something he never told Wulf about. The one time Wulf had been brave enough to ask, his father had already been deep in his cups and he had lashed out at his son, cursing him, only to break down sobbing and begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry", he had wailed, tears and snot running down his face. "I'm so sorry, my boy, I'm so sorry. I won't do it again, I promise, it will be alright. When we go back, everything will be alright. We will live in a castle again. I didn't mean to do it, I swear it was a mistake", he cried before promptly falling asleep. And that was all that Wulf knew about his family history.

As soon as he had been old enough to travel on his own, he had run, leaving behind his old man and his drunken ramblings and their tiny shack that had smelled like sour ale, stale sweat and vomit. Wulfryk didn't look back even once.

He travelled. He learned to fight so that he could make a living as a sellsword. One day he was hired as a guard for a caravan of merchants and his journey took him to the far and exotic country of Elsweyr, where he decided to stay on a whim. He was content there, but never truly happy, an inexplicable desire compelling him to move again and his heart longing after something he could not name. Leaving his friends and the country he had come to love, but could never bring himself to call home had not been easy, but it seemed the decision regarding his departure had been taken from him. He had become twitchy and irritable, taking long walks under the bright canopy of stars and often staring into the distance, until finally he could stand it no longer and set out once again.

Only to end up as a prisoner. It was a cruel joke the gods had played on him and he had laughed at first, hysterically, until both his guards and fellow captives had thrown uneasy looks his way.

He had crossed the border to Skyrim a fortnight ago and resupplied in a town that he could no longer recall the name of. The innkeeper had warned him that there were outlaws roaming the woodlands and hills nearby, telling him to not stray off the main road and to find himself some travel companions, if possible. So he had been happy when he met a group of fellow travellers headed in the same direction as he was. Judging by their armour and weapons they were soldiers, or maybe guards patrolling the southern border. He did not ask them any questions, seeking only protection in numbers, until he was past the territory where the robbers were known to strike and they in turn agreed for him to join their company.

For another week the journey stayed uneventful and Wulfryk allowed himself to relax and enjoy the scenery. In retrospect, he should never let his guard down. When the ambush was sprung, he barely managed to pull out his sword, roaring 'BANDITS' at the top of his lungs to warn his comrades. Then the assailants were on them and Wulf did not even have time to notice that, surprisingly, all attackers were wearing Imperial armour, before he was forced to fight for his life. When archers took out one flank and cavalry charged another the battle was over as quickly as it had begun and Wulf was one of the few still standing. They surrendered and there was a commotion as Wulfryk insistently tried to explain to the Imperial in charge that he really had thought they were being waylaid by robbers. The Imperials showed complete indifference towards him and, just like the bandits they claimed _not_ to be, they relieved him of all his possessions bound his hands and loaded him onto a cart.

It turned out the outlaws had been the very ones he had sought refuge with.

Their ride did not last long. By the time everybody had been rounded up, searched and restrained it was afternoon. It turned out the Imperials had planned ahead and secured a shed, where they could keep a close eye on the prisoners during night. And conveniently, it had another room where the prisoners could be questioned separately. Wulfryk tried to not show any fear as a guard ushered him through the door, though his knees felt a little weak and his hands shook slightly. The red haired man seated behind a desk was the first Nord he had seen with the Imperials. He looked up fleetingly, before asking "What's your name?"

"Brynjolf", Wulf answered without hesitating. Nobody would be able to call him out for the lie, because he had not told his name to anybody.

"Where do you hail from, Brynjolf?", the man enquired further. He had a calm manner as he kept his hands on a logbook in a non threatening way.

"Dawnstar", Wulfryk replied, choosing the only Nord town he could actually name.

The redheaded man jotted his answer down in his book and even though it was upside-down, Wulf could decipher 'Brynjolf of Dawnstar' written out in a neat script. When he finished writing the man turned his attention back to Wulf. "I am Thorald of Solitude. The soldiers tell me you thought we were bandits. Why?"

"I thought you were bandits because that's what the innkeeper warned me about. Back in the neat little town a quarter day's travel from the boarder." All true, that.

Thorald nodded his understanding before continuing "Do you have any idea in whose company you were travelling?"

Wulf sighed. He did not. "No. Care to enlighten me?"

Thorald looked surprised, but he shook his head. "Regrettably I can't tell you. Not yet." Instead he continued his questioning.

"Was it the first time Brynjolf had travelled to Skyrim?" – Yes.

"Why did he journey to Skyrim?" – To honour the last wish of his dying father. It was a bit dramatic, but close enough to the truth for Wulfryk to pass it off as such.

"Did he have any living relatives?" – No.

The questions continued in a similar way and by the end of the interview Wulf was fairly certain that he had convinced Thorald that he was not involved in...whatever he was being accused of being involved in.

Finally the torrent ended and after he had jotted down the last of 'Brynjolf's' answers, Thorald spoke. "If you are really innocent then you have nothing to fear from us. We cannot release you just yet, however, so you will probably travel with us all the way to Helgen. Your name is not on the lists of the wanted criminals. I will try to convince the Captain to let you go. Try to get some rest."

Wulfryk had gotten his rest, quite a lot of it, in fact. If Thorald was trying then he wasn't doing so very hard. Four days he spent in that bumpy cart and on four nights he had been interrogated, always by somebody else. And when they asked him about some stormy cloaks he had answered truthfully, that no, he had no fucking idea what they were talking about and quite frankly he did not give a rat's ass; expressing his responses in much nicer terms, of course.

Today was the fifth day and in the afternoon they were to arrive at their destination. Wulf opened his eyes and squinted up at the sky. It had always been the same driver, the same guards and the same horse pulling the same cart with the very same four prisoners. The Imperials were nothing, if not predictable. And yet he had not found an opportunity to escape. They were just too heavily guarded to risk an attempt. He had, however unravelled the knots in the hemp rope that bound his hands, retying them in a way that would allow him to slip off his bonds in a moment. That was on the first day. On the second he managed to filch a knife from one of the soldiers on guard duty. One did not live with Khajiit and not pick up some of their sneaky tricks; lockpicking and a certain sleight of hand were useful in many situations. But that was as far as he had dared to go. Hopefully, when they arrived at Helgen an opportune moment would present itself. Somehow he was not willing to entirely trust Thorald, who had visited him once, apologising for his discomfort.

All that remained for Wulfryk to do was to lie on the bench, watch the countryside pass by and listen to his fellow convicts talk. He did not know their names, so he just dubbed them Chatty, Horse and Muffle. Horse was a thief who looked surprisingly alike his namesake and Muffle had not said much around his gag, which suited Wulf just fine, as Chatty did more than enough talking for the four of them. Right now Chatty was sitting opposite him, while Muffle sat on the far side of the bench to his right side, where he had slid after Wulf had determinately kept poking him with his foot, so that he could stretch out comfortably. The man somewhat resembled a caterpillar, wrapped as he was in enough bonds to restrain a bear. Wulf briefly wondered what he had done that made the Imperials so very nervous. Not that he did not have other things to worry about.

Wulf had been headed for Helgen, so while he appreciated a ride and a break from all the walking, he only wished that it wasn't on a carriage bound for the executioner's block. That much he had been able to pick up. He was certain that Chatty had figured it out already. Horse seemed oblivious, which was kind of funny as Wulf wagered against himself how long it would take the thief to find out. There was no telling what Muffle thought.

"Hey, you! You're finally awake."

So Chatty had seen him staring up at the sky. Bollocks. Wulf had managed to avoid most of their talks, usually by pretending to be asleep, but he doubted he was getting out of this one. So, instead of trying he turned his head to smile up at the blonde man. "Morning, Sunshine", he drawled.

Chatty seemed happy to have a new victim to pester and continued unfazed. "You walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Yes, he knew that. Luckily he did not have to answer, because Horse did.

"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy."

It was an argument Wulf had heard dozens of times already, and he allowed his thoughts to drift off, until Horse turned and addressed him "You there. You and me – we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." Yes, he had figured that one out as well.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," Chatty threw in.

They were four men on the carriage, which made Wulf wonder if Chatty was insulting somebody. "Are you trying to hint at something?", he asked the man, who looked puzzled, so Wulf added "Just wondering who's the lady."

The Stormcloak got his meaning and grinned broadly, until a loud thump interrupted them and the Imperial soldier driving the carriage shouted "shut up, back there!"

"Sorry we forgot about you, honey" Wulfryk threw back unfazed at the red faced man.

Muffle grunted something and then started coughing quite violently and Wulf realized after a while that the man was laughing, the first time he had seen him react to anything.

Horse pointed at Muffle and asked "And what's with him, huh?"

At once, all merriment left Chatty. "Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King", he declared rather frostily.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you...oh gods, where are they taking us?", Horse's voice rose with fear, his eyes frantically roving over their captors.

There it went. Four and a half days. It seemed that Horse did not only look like a horse, he was also as bright as one. Wulfryk closed his eyes again.

Chatty's next pronouncement did not help to ease the tension, either. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening."

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead", said Horse before he started praying frantically.

Knowing they would never get the thief to shut up Wulf gave up on his nap and glared at Chatty. "My, you know how to cheer them up."

"Are you always this morose?"

"Only when I'm about to be executed", Wulf responded.

"Does it happen often?" A hint of a smile played around the blonde Nord's mouth.

Wulf answered with a smile of his own. "I already consider once to be too often."

The rest of their trip to Helgen passed in silence. When the carriage clattered over cobblestones instead of the dirt road, Wulf sat up and looked around. The walls and massive gates of Helgen were lined with Imperial soldiers. One man in particular stood out, his golden armour shining in the sun. He looked important, so Wulf turned to Chatty to ask him "Who is that man?"

"Who? Oh, look at him. General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." The Stormcloak turned around to spit at the feet of one of their guards.

When their carriage finally came to a rumbling stop, Chatty sighed before reaching over and shaking Horse.

"Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think? End of the line." Chatty got up from his seat. "Let's hurry. We shouldn't keep the gods waiting."

Wulf saw no reason to hurry. The gods had put him in this predicament, they could damn well wait a little longer, another few decades, if possible.

The next couple of minutes they stood around, while the Imperials called on the various prisoners, confirming what they already knew, namely that none had escaped.

"Empire loves their damn lists", Chatty muttered dismally.

Finally it was Wulf's turn and a Nord standing next to an Imperial woman and holding a roll of parchment pointed at him. "Who are you?"

"Brynjolf of Dawnstar", Wulfryk answered, as he had done so many times already.

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list."

Before the Captain could answer however, Thorald arrived seemingly out of nowhere, to vouch for Wulf's innocence, who felt a slight stirring of hope. What ensued was a heated argument, Thorald and the other Nord, Hadvar, were of the opinion he should be freed, arguing that it was bad luck he had been captured with the Stormcloaks, and that they couldn't randomly execute innocent travellers. Sadly, the Imperial woman did not share their opinion.

Then Horse took off, believing that he could make it out when there was a distraction. He did not make it far, before the archers put a stop to his break out attempt. The Captain was not amused. Rounding on her men she yelled "Forget the list! He goes to the block!"

What a Bitch. Wulfryk found the Empire's love of 'their damn lists' to be sadly lacking.

There was a brief pause while General Tullius spoke to Ulfric and a priest of Arkay intoned a prayer, one Wulf realized with a sudden pang, that was meant for their souls. Until now he had been able to keep the fear at bay, but he felt it keenly now, emanating from the prisoners all around himself. There was not even the slightest chance of escape. Wulfryk was no stranger to fighting, but there was something dreadful and mortifying about being led to one's death like a pig for slaughter. Wulf felt his breath quicken, and he alternately began to shiver and sweat.

Finally, one of the prisoners snapped, not being able to stand the tension any longer, he barrelled past the guards, interrupting the priest "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"

Wulfryk had to admire that the Stormcloak soldier for his guts. He was soon distracted however, when he felt – or maybe heard something that made his hair stand on end. A deep rumble resounded across the valley, rolling down from the mountains even as a hot wind picked up. The air throbbed with energy and as if on cue, all horses went mad. The tumult lasted a while, as some riders were thrown, while others struggled to regain control over the beasts. One soldier brought his mount to a halt not far away from where Wulfryk was standing. Looking at the animal he could see its eyes were rolled back and wide with terror, as it stood frozen, nostrils flared and breathing so hard, it rocked back and forth. Never, in his entire life had Wulf seen another being in such mortal fear.

"What is going on?" "What's happening?" The cries were repeated back and forth as the crowd, soldiers and prisoners alike, shuffled around, casting nervous glazes towards the heavens. Ultimately, Genaral Tullius had to bellow for order, before things calmed down.

"It's nothing. Carry on!", the Military Governor commanded and he first convict, the one who had stormed forward, was led to the block. The Captain went up to the man, kicking him hard to make him kneel in the dirt. Her General stood only a couple of feet away. Wulfryk felt as his heartbeat picked up speed, while he watched the Nord laying his head on the block. He was not looking at the prisoner, however, nor at the blade of the headsman's axe as it rose slowly, but at the Captain, who stood directly behind the prisoner, but did not hold him down. And when the weapon descended with a sickening thud it was the Captain looking at Wulfryk, as she pointed at him.

"You're next."

* * *

**AN:** This was really fun to write! I hope enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing.


	3. Chapter 2

_You're next. _

Wulfryk felt his throat go dry as he swallowed convulsively and made his way to the block on leaden legs, while two soldiers dragged away the headless corpse that a few seconds ago had been a living, breathing man. Don't resist. Don't give them any reason to doubt you. Just as he reached the bloody stump, another cry rang out, so close this time that Wulf faltered in his steps and involuntarily looked up. Recalling the frantic horse he was sure that his own face was distorted with the same fear. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong he thought, even as a pair of rough hands grabbed him and a sharp kick made his knees buckle. His cheek was pressed into the sticky, still warm blood of his predecessor and its scent flooded his nose. He saw the henchman's blade rise slowly, as it had done already; and then the pressure lifted off his back.

That very moment Wulfryk felt a calm settle over him that came from utter abandonment of hope. He would die today. He would die, but first he would take as many of those arrogant bastards with him as possible. Starting with the Captain, who had just made the biggest mistake of her life. She did not hold him down as she had not done before, too assured that he had already been defeated. If he was going down, then so was she and maybe he could take General Tullius hostage. The Military Governor was standing only a couple of feet away, too close by far to pull out his sword in time.

Imperials were nothing, if not predictable.

Wulfryk calmly disposed of his bonds as he dug his toes into the earth, his fingers clenching around the hilt of his stolen knife. His entire body was tense with anticipation. As the headsman's axe reached its peak, a heartbeat before it swung town to tear through his flesh and bones, he made his move. At once he leaped backwards, spinning around before he could even fully right himself and it appeared as if his plan would work out flawlessly, for the Captain had not yet registered a need to defend herself.

That was when Wulfryk felt his body battered by a force so powerful, he lost his balance mid-leap and was thrown to the ground in an ungraceful heap at the feet of the very person that should have died by his hands. His head and back collided with the hard ground as his vision went white from the jarring impact. For the merest fraction of a second his eyes connected with those of the Captain and she saw her death reflected in their blue depths, even as a more rational part of her brain took in his unbound hands and the knife clenched in one of them.

And just when Wulfryk thought his day couldn't get any worse, he beheld the dragon descend from the skies, a gale following in its wake, to perch on the highest tower of Helgen's fortress. There was a dragon. A bloody _dragon_. And Wulf felt his mind shutting down; his only thought that it was funny that his father had forgotten to mention that tiny detail in all of his tales.

The monstrous beast opened its jaws wide and roared a deafening sound that for a second stopped Wulf's heart in its tracks, before it resumed its stuttering beat. It might be a sign of how hard he had hit his head, but Wulfryk could swear he discerned a fell voice that carried on the dragon's foul breath.

It felt like an eternity as he lay there, staring up, but suddenly he felt somebody shaking him. It was Chatty, who had run up to him and helped him to his feet, even as Wulf's ears rang and the world around him spun. They made their way towards the nearest shelter, a guard tower, Chatty pulling the door shut behind them and addressing somebody inside. "Can the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages", a deep voice answered him and Wulf was surprised to discover it belonged to Muffle. Who was no longer bound, Wulf could see, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim interior of the tower. In that moment Muffle, or Jarl Ulfric, as he undoubtedly preferred to be addressed caught sight of Wulf.

"You!", he growled. "For all that kicking of yours...I should..."

What had Horse said? The man was the leader of a rebellion and, oh, a king. Wulf should probably apologise.

"What?", he interrupted the other man instead "I did not hear you complain", he said, rendering the entire room silent. The dragon chose that very moment to bring down a part of the tower and to stick its hideous head through the opening. Peekaboo! It opened its jaws once more, but this time a jet of flame shot out, so hot it melted stone and incinerated the soldiers hiding further up.

Where he stood a story lower, Wulfryk felt like he was being roasted alive, the hot air painful to breathe in and perhaps it truly was an indication that he was losing his wits, but amidst the shrieks of the dying he had _heard_ the dragon speak. The words were unknown to him, the ancient language grating and discordant, bringing to mind the rasping of scales on stone.

When the dragon retracted its head once more, Wulf carefully made his way closer to the opening, chancing a look outside. What he saw took his breath away. Helgen was in utter disarray. There were people milling around, screaming even as they were frantically running to and fro, searching for escape. Most of the town's wooden structures were on fire. Several soldiers had their bows trailed on the dragon, but to little avail, as the beast swooped down to saw destruction before flying out of reach again.

"Let's get the hell out of here." Wulf turned his head to look at Chatty, who had made his way over. Peering through the billowing smoke, the man pointed to the far right. "There's the gates. I'll meet you there, or in Sovngarde."

It was as good a plan as any, Wulf thought. Drawing in a deep breath he decided to take the direct route, jumping from the ledge and landing on the second floor of a building, some feet below. It looked like the dragon hat torn away the roof and a part of it was on fire. Down here the smoke was much worse, obscuring almost all sight. Wulf pressed his sleeve against his mouth, trying to breath in as little of the acrid vapours as possible. He made his way down, cautiously checking the skies before stepping outside. He did not see the dragon, but nearby he noticed a figure he recognized.

It was Hadvar, who called out to him "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way!"

Amidst all the chaos, the flames and even though there was a thrice-damned dragon tearing the town apart, Wulfryk found time enough to pause and show the man _exactly_ what he thought about going with somebody who would have watched his beheading without batting an eyelash. He did not try to make himself heard above the clamour, not that he needed to. Some gestures were universally known and needed no explanation.

As a violent tremor shook the town, Wulf sprinted across an open space, only to dive for the safety of a wall when he heard the telltale thump of wings. When he looked up, the dragon was settled on the wall he was pressing himself against; Wulf could have tickled its belly if he so desired. Which he absolutely did not. At last the beast took flight again, the pressure from its enormous wings driving Wulf to his knees. He risked a glimpse from behind his hiding place, only to make out that the gates had been closed.

He wanted to brain the blithering idiot who had first thought of barring the gates, hemming in soldiers and civilians alike and turning the town into a death trap. It was not like they would keep their opponent out, the damn firebreathing lizard was _airborne_ and it would go where it pleased. Wulf saw a motion out of the corner of his eye and spotted Chatty making his way over, face grim and holding a bloody axe.

"Somebody's sealed the gates shut. The bloody elves, if you ask me. We could not get them open. The only other way out is through the keep, unless you fancy climbing the walls." Well, that explained a few things.

"Where's the keep?", Wulf asked because a wind had driven the smoke closer, plunging everything into an impenetrable gloom.

Chatty pointed to their left, before grabbing Wulf's arm and pulling him along. "That way!"

They reached the fortress without incident, entering through a small side door as the main entrance was barred. Chatty navigated them through a maze of corridors and through a door on the left into what looked like a storeroom. There were all manner of things lying around and it did not take them long to find what they needed. Hurriedly they exchanged their filthy rags for proper clothes and equipped themselves with arms and armour. Then it was back to the abandoned corridor and down a flight of steps, their footfalls echoing loudly in the eerie quiet of the keep.

When they came to a closed door, Chatty cursed vividly. Normally, Wulfryk didn't let a lock stop him, but he had lost his set of lock picks to the Imperials. The door looked too solid to try to break through, but perhaps together they could unhinge it. As they were debating their next course of action, Wulf suddenly motioned Chatty into silence. Both men strained their ears and sure enough, they could make out stifled voices on the other side of the door. Crouching low to either side, they listened as the voices swiftly grew louder. Wulf drew his weapon, Chatty following suit, as the speaker began shouting commands. Wulf peeked through the keyhole. He could not make out much, but it was enough. Someone was in for a nasty surprise. Captain Bitch. Wulfryk smiled ferociously. He had a score to settle. He lifted three fingers to Chatty, who nodded his understanding.

The soldiers drew closer and now Wulf could make out the sound of footfalls, before there was a scraping noise and the door swung outward, providing a convenient hiding place for him. As the first man walked through, Wulf grabbed the door and slammed it into him, knocking the soldier off his feet. Before the dazed Imperial had a chance to react, Chatty split his head open with a single, vicious blow. One down, two to go.

At least now the odds were even, though in the confined space of the narrow corridor the two Nord were decidedly at an advantage, their size granting them the crucial reach. Shields up, they stormed forward as one, bearing down upon resistance of their adversaries, who had no way of evading the attack. One thing had to be said of the Captain, she did not give up easily, putting up a mean fight. Even as her companion fell, she chose death over surrender. For that Wulf could respect her.

And just like that, nothing stood in their way anymore. Making their way past the corpses, they followed the passageway, Wulfryk trailing after Chatty, until finally they made it out, the noise emanating from behind Helgen's high walls hitting them like a physical blow.

As he stepped into the warm sunshine, Wulf felt a huge smile creeping up his face and he saw his joy mirrored in Chatty's face, whom he pulled into a crushing hug, both of them chortling with relief.

"I'm Ralof.", the other man spoke. Well, he guessed he couldn't keep calling his friend 'Chatty' forever.

Still grinning he said "Wulfryk." Ralof snorted, obviously amused that Wulf had messed around with their Imperial captors.

"Look, over there." Wulf turned his head as Ralof pointed something out in the distance. There, next to what could have been a stable, a line of horses was picketed. Keeping a close eye on the skies Wulf made his way over to them. Most of the animals still bore full tack. The cavalryman had probably left their horses here, before they went to watch the executions in Helgen.

There were no guards in sight and Wulf swiftly slipped between the animals. The nervous horses stood huddled as close together as their ropes allowed. Wulfryk quickly assessed them, ruling out the animals that looked injured, probably due to trying to escape when they heard the dragon. For himself he chose a black mount, smaller than Skyrim's own huge, lumbering beasts. Undoubtedly it was a cross between the native animals and the lighter, faster and more agile Imperial horses. For Ralof he selected a well-built bay mare. Both horses had no brand, which was well.

'Rightfully stolen' was not a widely accepted title of ownership.

Then, acting on impulse he cut the high line that tethered the animals together, before breaking off a branch and slapping a horse hard across the rump. The horse jerked violently and broke out in a wild gallop, fleeing Helgen, the other horses giving chase. Wulf had some trouble keeping his own two steeds from following, struggling to keep the high-strung animals in check.

He wished the Imperials good luck in rounding up all the other horses and catching up to him. Quickly, he jogged back to Chatty- _Ralof -_ before they mounted and set off, leaving the dragon's roars and the screams of people and animals being burned alive behind them. Wulfryk laughed, the pure exhilaration of having survived lifting his spirit as he nudged his mount into a brisk trot. He could make out the shape of a tall mountain range in the distance and it beckoned to him, promising freedom.

* * *

**AN:** Something tells me mountains don't keep their promises =)


	4. Chapter 3

I've meddled with Skyrim's proportions, because for a country with endless tundra, huge mountain ranges and plains where herds of mammoth graze it simply felt too small. The cities and towns are still in their respectable places, but I have altered the distances. It's just that in my head cannon Skyrim might be Tamriel's biggest country – vast, wild and mostly empty.

* * *

"I killed more Imperials than you. I was counting", Ralof said.

"Pfft", Wulf snorted, a sound that was picked up by his horse. He looked down at the animal wide-eyed. Sometimes it seemed the horse made fun of its rider. Turning back to his companion, Wulf answered "You wish. I lived in Cyrodiil, in the Empire, for years. I killed lots of people there."

The banter flowed easily between them. After a week on the road they had grown to know and like each other well. Ralof had told Wulf how he had been a soldier in Helgen, prior to it becoming an Imperial stronghold. He had fled then, together with his brothers-in-arms, most of whom belonged to the fraction that called themselves 'Stormcloaks', because they supported Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and his claim to the throne. Wulf in turn entertained them with tales of his own travels.

They had made good speed on the road and today before nightfall they were to reach the village of Riverwood where Ralof had been born and his sister still lived with her husband. They had met precious few people on the road and none who knew what had happened in Helgen. Likewise, nobody from the town had caught up to them and therefore Wulf felt safe in assuming that nobody knew who he was. The villagers might know or suspect that Ralof was a Stormcloak, but there was no proof and no Imperial list to condemn them.

The day was slowly nearing its end when they rounded a bend in the road and Ralof pointed out something in the distance. It was a ruin atop the mountainside across from where they were now. It looked ancient, long stone structures jutting out from the earth in half circles, like the desiccated ribcage of a beast long dead.

"That is Bleak Falls Barrow", Ralof informed Wulfryk. "I never understood how my sister could live in its shadow.", he continued. "That place gives me the chills. The good news is that Riverwood is not far away. You cannot see it from here, because it lies in a dell, but we will be there before the sun sets."

Just as Ralof had predicted, Riverwood came into view half an hour later. The village had watchtowers and no walls, but the two guards they passed did not even glance in their direction. It seemed surreal in this peaceful place, that only week ago a dragon had swooped down from the skies and destroyed a whole town. The same fate could easily meet the people here. Trying to shake such dark thoughts, Wulf looked around. Next to a small brook a group of four children played, trying to catch some frogs, judging by the happy squeals, splashes and loud quakes.

At that very moment a boy looked up and stared at Ralof, and suddenly jumping up he ran over to him. "Uncle!", the boy yelled excitedly and Ralof chucked with mirth.

"Hello, Frodnar. Still out and about at this hour?"

The look on the boy's face was somewhat guilty, but soon enough his eyes lit up. "Uncle, you've got a _horse_."

His agitation made Ralof laugh out loud and he bent down and picked his nephew up, placing him in the saddle in front of himself. "Better say goodbye to your friends, Frodnar. You know your mother will have both our hides if you're not at home before dusk."

The boy, Frodnar, waved at his friends, who had forgone playing in favour of staring at the mounted men in open-mouthed awe. Ralof clucked his tongue at his mare and urged her into a light canter that had his nephew whooping excitedly and throwing his arms up in the air.

Wulf followed at a more leisurely pace through the town's main road and turning right he rode over a lush meadow where several shaggy cattle grazed. There was a small dirt track and at its end a cluster of wooden cottages stood. Wulf arrived in time to hear Frodner shout "Momma, look who I found! It's uncle Ralof", he added, in case his mother had not noticed.

"Ralof, why...", Gerdur started, before turning to her son. "Frodnar, why don't you tell father we have guests?" The boy nodded and ran off, eager to bring his father the news. While Gerdur waited until he was out of hearing distance the two men dismounted, Wulf taking the reins so that Ralof could hug his sister, kissing her cheek affectionately. Unlike their riders the horses did not get along very well, bickering all the time and Wulf had to swat both their heads to keep them apart. Handling the horses gave him an excuse to listen in on their conversation without appearing to be nosy which he, admittedly, was.

"Ralof, is everything all right? I thought you were with Ulfric", Gerdur began.

Ralof nodded. "I was, but we got into an ambush." Trying to make light of what had happened to them he continued "Nearly got a shave from the Imperial headsman."

"Those bastards!", his sister spat, throwing her arms around her little brother, as if to assure herself that he really was unharmed. "Oh, Ralof! But what about Ulfric? Did he escape too?"

"Ulfric...last I saw him he was fine." Ralof's face became serious once again. "It is good you sent the boy away, sister. We need to talk, but here is not the proper place. He turned to Wulf who was watching the horses graze, glad the animals had forgone fighting for now. "Oh, and I almost forgot: this is Wulfryk."

Gerdur greeted her guest with a smile and a firm handshake. "All friends of Ralof's are friends of mine and welcome here." She quickly took charge of the situation. "Well, you must be tired and hungry and you two will need to bath, you smell worse than the animals you ride on." After a week with no change of clothes, Wulf guessed they probably did stink. "Ralof, why don't you see Hod about some spare clothes, I am sure he has some that will fit, while I help Wulfryk with the horses?" She shooed her brother off and ordered "Follow me; there is a paddock behind the house where you can leave the horses."

"Yes, ma'am." Gerdur shook her head when Wulf tossed her a cocky grin. He liked her genuine hospitality and no-nonsense attitude. "But please call me Wulf. Everyone else does."

Together they made quick work of what would have taken a single person quite a while. The horses were rid of their tack, brushed down, watered, had their hooves checked for stones and were happily munching on a big pile of hay within minutes.

With the animals taken care of, it was the human's turn. Wulf found Ralof bathing in the river that flowed through the town and for which Riverwood was named. There was a pile of clean clothes, a washrag and soap lying next to the water's edge. Wulf undressed, grabbed the soap and waded into the water. It was icy cold and he swore colourfully, more from the shock than because he was really cold. His Nord blood protected him well against the elements and Wulf enjoyed the prickling sensation that started in his hands and toes. He washed thoroughly, using up almost half of the bar of soap and by the time he clambered out of the water and unto the bank, Ralof was already gone. Wulf used his old clothes to dry himself, he quickly threw on the shirt and breeches Hod had been kind enough to borrow him and afterwards he laundered his own filthy garments.

When he returned to the house, he was greeted by laughter and warmth and he hung his wet clothes close to the fireplace to dry. There was a buzz of activity with everybody working and talking at once and Wulf joined to help, chopping vegetables under Gerdur's stern gaze while Frodnar darted around underfoot, getting into everyone's way. The only thing that dampened his spirits was that Hod glared daggers at Wulf whenever he talked to the man's wife. In a moment of calm right before dinner the lumberjack made his way over to where Wulf was seated. Gerdur was away, feeding the farm animals in the barn and Wulf felt a certain desire to hide behind Ralof, who sat next to him.

"If Ralof says you're a friend, I don't question it. But I gotta warn you: don't you get any ideas about my wife." The threat was clear in the man's tone.

"Hod!" Gerdur's voice cracked through the following silence like a whip. She stood in the open doorway, hands on her hips.

Wulf sighed. Couldn't he catch a break once in a while? "Don't worry. I'll sooner molest Ralof here, than your wife", Wulf answered the protective husband and patted Ralof, whose brows shot up, on the shoulder.

Hod turned bright red and stammered an apology, Gerdur covered her mouth with her hands to stifle her chuckles and Frodnar piped up "What does 'molest' mean, momma?"

Wulfryk's grin turned outright evil as he winked the boy over and in a conspiratorial whisper told him "It means to tickle somebody really bad."

The atmosphere was much lighter during their meal and soon after the boy grew tired and Gerdur saw him off to bed and then the adult's talk turned towards serious matters. Wulf let Ralof recount what had happened at Helgen, occasionally throwing in his own observations. Because the mill that made for a great part of Riverwood's income belonged to Gerdur, the woman was considered to be the leader of the town. As such she was concerned about what had Wulf worried as well: the people. Should a dragon attack, they were utterly without defence. As Wulf helped himself to a refill, the others discussed how to deal with the threat.

"...we have to inform Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. If you could do that for us, Wulfryk, I would be very thankful", Gerdur finally decided.

Wulf had not been paying attention, busy as he was soaking up the last drops of the delicious stew with a piece of bread. "Huh?" He looked around as all eyes suddenly rested on him. "Visit Jarl greater-than-what? Is there a Balgruuf the Lesser?" He probably should shut up now.

The look he got from Ralof was disbelieving at best. "Honestly Wulf, sometimes I cannot tell whether you are joking or not."

"Really, Ralof. By now you should know me well enough to know I'm not being serious." His voice was steady, but Wulf was glad his face was hidden behind his bowl, because it meant that Ralof did not see him wince.

He agreed to deliver the message to Whiterun nonetheless, it was the least he could do in return for the hospitality he had received.

They settled for the night soon after reaching a decision. The cottage had only one spare bed on which Wulf and Ralof bunked together. It was somewhat cramped, but Wulf didn't mind. He found the shared warmth and the solid weight of another body pressed against his quite comforting. That he was attracted to Ralof probably helped. Right now the other man had an arm slung across his chest, his breath tickled the nape of Wulf's neck and he snored lightly in his sleep.

For a while Wulfryk just lay there, his eyes open and staring into the dark, as he listened to somebody toss and turn in the other bed and to the creaking of the house as it settled for the night. Eight months ago he had set out and this was the first time since he had left his home that he could rest in a proper bed. He wondered what else the future held in stock for him, which was not something he was prone to do, as Wulf usually lived for the moment. When at last he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him, his rest was deep and untroubled, as it had not been since he had set foot in Skyrim.

* * *

**AN:** Wulf needs some love too, and since I'm ready to introduce him in HT, I thought it might a good idea for you to get to know him better, before he makes his appearance.


	5. Chapter 4

Wolf meets Wulf

* * *

In the morning, after a hearty breakfast and fond farewells Wulf saddled his horse, mounted up and rode for Whiterun. Gerdur had given him money for the journey and he spent most of it upon acquiring a bow, a quiver and arrows. It was a fine weapon made from walnut: short, powerful and curved in the Imperial fashion. Wulfryk felt almost giddy; he was in Skyrim, he was no longer about to be executed or on the run. To the contrary, he had a mission and he was headed for a big city where he was sure to find employment. Things were finally looking up.

Whiterun was three days ride from Riverwood. On the first Wulf left behind the dense forests and on the second he passed through rolling hills, until he finally arrived at the tundra. At a certain point the now sparse trees ended and before him a never-ending grassland stretched out. There was the occasional shrub, but other than that the landscape consisted of rocks and high grass that was yellow after winter. There were flowers, however, in every colour, shape and size. The cacophony of colours brought life and joy to an otherwise bleak landscape. The air hummed with insects; butterflies, bees and horseflies that had Wulf's horse swishing its tail without pause.

In the distance on a rocky outcrop Wulf could make out the outline of the city of Whiterun and behind it a mountain rage. Those were some huge mountains, the tallest Wulf had ever seen and in his travels across all of Tamriel he had seen quite a lot. He took his sweet time admiring the scenery until a loud roar to his left made him look around wildly and his horse nicker and prance nervously. Whatever had made that sound, it must have been angry. And _big_. There was another roar and this time it was answered with screams. Human screams.

'Just ride away', Wulf thought. 'Whoever is there, they'll have to manage on their own.'

Damn it! He wheeled his horse around, turning it towards the direction from which the sounds came and kicked his mount into a full gallop. He dashed through a small copse of trees and down into a hollow, jumping from the horse's back as soon as he reached his destination. Wulf grabbed his bow, which he kept strung and slung over his shoulder and faced his enemy.

Wulf's horse didn't wait around, but buckled a few times, kicking the air before it made off quickly. Wulf did not blame the animal. It probably had more brains than he did.

There, going up against a...a..._Giant _were three, apparently suicidal warriors. And they were in trouble. One was down and the only thing keeping the Giant from crushing her was a man who wielded a greatsword and even now it was evident he would not be able to keep his adversary on the defence for long. Without thinking, Wulf nocked an arrow, drew his bow and let fly. His purchase proved its worth when the Giant let out a bellow of pain. He fired two more arrows, one of which missed its mark, but the second hit true. Suddenly the Giant looked directly at Wulfryk. It had figured out who was responsible for hurting it. Then, it charged.

_Shit_. That had not been part of the plan.

Wulf dropped his bow and drew his sword. His shield was still strapped to the saddle, not that it would do much good against this foe; probably it would only slow him down. Speaking of which, it was high time for him to get the hell out of that monster's path. Wulf got his ass in motion and, changing direction often to avoid being hit by the great club, he scampered for the other fighters. Alone, he stood no chance, but together, well together their chances were still shitty. At least the woman was up again, while another one had a bow, but not many arrows left. The fight that followed involved a lot of darting around, charging in whenever the Giant turned another way and getting out of its reach quickly. It was the big warrior's sword that brought the Giant down, cutting through the sinews in its feet and felling it like a tree. At once, they were all upon it, hacking, slashing and stabbing until finally, their enemy lay still.

Wulf was panting, covered in sweat and blood and Holy Divines, did he need to sit down. For that purpose he chose the closest surface: the dead Giant. One of the women lay down in the grass and her comrades were both bent over, gulping air. For a while their harsh breathing was the only sound that broke the silence. Then, the tall warrior righted himself, cleaned his blade of blood and first checked on his friends, before walking up to Wulfryk, who craned his neck up in order to be able to see the man's face.

He was the biggest man Wulf had ever seen; then again everything seemed to be oversized in Skyrim. The warrior had dark hair and stubble and he wore black war paint that made his blue-grey eyes look all the more piercing. To say he cut an impressive figure would be an understatement.

"Well met, kinsman", tall, dark and handsome spoke. "You are strong. You should visit us in Jorrvaskr." Wherever that was, but Wulf was happy to just listen to that deep, gravelly voice.

The red haired archer joined them. She too had her face painted. "Farkas speaks true. You fight well. You would make for a decent Shield-Sibling."

"Shield-Sibling?" Wulf was not entirely sure he had heard right.

She grinned at him "An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions?"

The answer lay in Wulf's blank gaze, though he shook his head anyway.

"An order of warriors", she explained. "We are brothers and sisters in honour. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."

"Like the Fighter's Guild?", Wulf asked.

The second woman answered him this time "Yes, although _we_ are the real thing."

Well, that sounded interesting. Wulfryk had been looking for work anyway and here was the perfect opportunity. "So, can I join?", he enquired, addressing his question to the archer, who appeared to be in charge of the group.

"That's not for me to say. You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr", she replied.

That's what he was going to do, Wulf decided. He too wiped his blade clean and sheathed it and then he picked up his bow, checking it for damage from when he had dropped it. The next quarter of an hour Wulf and Aela – that turned out to be the leader's name – spent cutting arrows from the dead Giant, while Farkas filled him in on everything he knew about the creatures.

Together, the four of them set out towards Whiterun. Ria, the second woman, happily answered all of Wulf's questions concerning the city and the Companions.

Fortunately, his horse had not run far and Wulf considered himself to be truly lucky when he found the beast grazing some two miles away from where it had bolted. He studied it for a moment and decided to ride ahead. After all, the sooner Jarl Balgruuf got news of the dragon, the better.

"I have some urgent business in Whiterun. I hope we will see each other soon, in Jorrvaskr", he spoke to his fellow travellers, hoping they would understand that he was not too squeamish to walk with them. It seemed they did and the three Companions waved goodbye.

xxxx

Not even if he rode hard, would Wulf be able to reach Whiterun today, but thankfully there were farms on the city's outskirts and the owners housed him and his horse for the night. Wulf reimbursed them with a generous amount of gold for their kindness and in the morning he was surprised to find his clothes clean, if still slightly damp. He arrived in Whiterun within two hours. Now, the city was something to behold. The buildings were mostly made of wood with a stone base and the streets were broad and many were paved. Whiterun consisted of three districts, distinguishable by their height and it had several streams running through it. At the very top Dragonsreach stood, a fortress built in the style of the famous Nord longhouses, and home of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.

Wulf had to state his business at its gates and once more inside, but the Jarl agreed to see him almost as soon as he got word of his arrival. What followed was a torrent of questions about the events in Helgen. Wulfryk stuck to the truth, mostly, because the Jarl was not interested in Imperials or Stormcloaks, but in the safekeeping of his subjects. He ended up sending a contingent of soldiers to Riverwood and talking Wulf into accepting a dangerous mission from a crazy wizard, because Wulf's common sense flew right out of the window when he heard the sum of the reward that was dangled in front of him.

Using the mage's own words,_ he was to delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may – or may not – be actually there. _

The tablet was called a dragonstone and Wulf had no idea what it did, except that it might help them understand the dragons. Or...something like that. The wizard was interested in it, as was the Jarl and that was all he needed to know.

Wulf regretted his decision as soon as he heard the details of the assignment. Then again, Balgruuf could have ordered him to retrieve it anytime, the man was a Jarl. For his troubles of delivering news of the attack on Helgen Wulf got a small pouch full of gold and a warm meal. He would leave on the morrow, but today was not over yet.

So he decided to do what he had promised to, namely to visit Jorrvaskr. As Ria had told him, the mead hall of the Companions was the oldest building in Whiterun. A long time ago it had stood by itself upon the hill, but in time a town and later a city sprang up around it. It certainly was a remarkable building, shaped in the form of an upturned longboat, which it once had been.

Wulf entered through a massive door and he was glad to catch sight of a familiar face at once. The three Companions must have returned recently, because he noticed that Aela's boots were still caked in mud. She saw him as well and waved him over. Just then a commotion started and somebody shouted "A fight!"

Aela just rolled her eyes, muttering "They're at it – again."

Wulf watched the contestants, a male Dunmer and a Nord woman, go at each other. "Erm...five septims on the maiden?", he suggested.

Aela snorted "We don't take bets on our shield-siblings, but...good choice. Athis does not stand a chance against Njada." She then pointed towards some stairs. "You're probably here to see Kodlak. Just go down these stairs, turn right and keep straight ahead. His room is at the end of the corridor."

"Thanks."

She nodded, but did not tear her eyes away from the brawl. Wulf did as she had told him. He found the room in question easily, but it was already occupied. Two men sat at the table, engrossed in their conversation. Wulfryk had no difficulties guessing which one was Kodlak Whitemane. The name really was a tip-off.

A snippet of their talk reached Wulf's ears.

"But I still hear the call of the blood." That was the other man speaking.

Uh, that sounded private. And interesting. It was none of his business, though. He would turn around and walk away. Come back at a later time. 'Damn it!', Wulf cursed inwardly when had his feet carried him to the door. He leaned against the frame, not hiding, but neither was he in plain sight. The men did not notice his arrival at first.

"We all do. It is our burden to bear, but we can overcome it", Kodlak answered.

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily." The man could only mean Farkas. The resemblance was so stark, that would they not have different voices, Wulf would be wondering when Farkas had found the time to cut his hair. Lovely, that this much gorgeous came as twins. Wulf bit down hard on his lip, to keep from grinning.

"Leave that to me."

"A stranger comes to our hall." Farkas' brother's eyes fixed on Wulf. They were the same colour as his twins, maybe paler, but they too were circled in black paint. The old man turned to regard the newcomer as well.

"I would like to join the Companions", Wulf spoke up.

"Would you now?" Despite his age, Kodlak's voice was strong. "Here, let me have a look at you." He beckoned the man to come closer. "Those eyes aren't what they used to be."

Wulf stepped forward and let the man inspect him, appraising the old warrior in turn.

Kodlak practically did a double take as the beheld the man that stepped into the circle of light. It was _him_! He recovered quickly and tried to cover up for his lapse. "Yes, I see - a certain strength of spirit."

His shock had not been lost on Vilkas. "Master, you are not truly considering accepting him?"

Kodlak shook his head and gently reprimanded the other Companion "I am nobody's master, Vilkas." He could already sense trouble brewing when he saw Vilkas' unhappy frown. "And last I checked we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

"Apologies." The word sounded rather strained. "But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this outsider." Vilkas, gave the newcomer an once-over, letting him know what he thought of him, which wasn't much. He had black hair that reached past his shoulders, a neat beard that was just long enough it could no longer be called stubble, cold blue eyes of a stunning intensity and Nord features, but surprisingly dark skin. A half-blooded mongrel most likely. Vilkas snorted. Dogs did not belong with wolves.

Wulfryk, son of a drunk outcast, surname unknown as of yet; also known as Brynjolf of Dawnstar, a wanted criminal and Stormcloak supporter. Caravan guard, lifelong vagabond, master opportunist and occasional petty thief. It wasn't much of a résumé, Wulf had to admit.

Still, the burning resentment in the other man's gaze was unexpected and it made him weary. It was as if Vilkas had seen right through him. The scowl on his face said as much as he stared at Wulf, unblinking. A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled over the little gathering. Tension hung in the air, so thick one could almost slice it with a knife. Wulf dipped his head and let a smile slowly spread over his face. It was as friendly an expression as a dog baring its teeth and he saw Vilkas' hand involuntarily twitching for his blade. Good. He wasn't the only one on guard, then.

Kodlak did his best to set things right, but he seemed oblivious to the depth of what was going on right in front of him. "Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."

"And their arm", Vilkas supplied, still trying to intimidate Wulf by glaring him down.

Wulf's grin turned a bit broader which annoyed the other man no end. "Good news, then", he drawled. "I've got two."

Kodlak blinked in surprise and he let out an amused cough. "Of course." From the other side of the table Vilkas growled. Nonetheless, Kodlak continued "How are you in battle, boy?"

"I can handle myself", Wulf replied softly. He was not boasting. Those that had believed otherwise could have testified to his abilities, were they not pushing up daisies.

"That may be so." Kodlak did some quick thinking. What he decided to do next could turn out to be a huge disaster, but the newcomer _had_ to become a Companion. Kodlak had seen it happen. It might sound crazy to anybody else, but the old man knew that the gods must have finally answered his prayers. He took the plunge "This is Vilkas. He will test your arm. Vilkas, take him out to the yard and see what he can do."

"Aye", Vilkas ground out. He could not tell what bothered him about the other man so much. Maybe it was that cocky grin which caused his hackles to rise. Other than that, he did not like the newcomer's manner. It was...too smooth. Practiced. And he smelled wrong. The beast inside him and Vilkas might be at odds most of the time, but he had learned to trust the wolf's instincts. Something was not right with that guy and Vilkas would be glad to toss his ass out of Jorrvaskr personally.

He stood, picked his sword up and without a backwards glance he left for the training ground. His stride was tense, for he did not like turning his back on the other man, but he would not let his unease show.

Wulf remained unmoving for a couple of seconds, before shrugging and catching up with Vilkas. "Hello, I'm Wulfryk", he tried cheerfully.

"I don't care. The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this." If that whelp knew how hard Vilkas was trying to retain self-control, he would not be as smug. Vilkas would not succumb to the beast, however. He would not let it loose and wreak havoc, unless it was absolutely a matter of life and death. It did not mean that he did not want to. Especially since the whelp would not shut up.

"My, these warm, heartfelt greetings must be a Nord thing." Wulf's sarcasm was not lost on Vilkas. It annoyed the big warrior and that's why Wulfryk kept it up. If he had to fight the man, he wanted him to be riled up. Angry people were careless and they made mistakes. He probed further.

"Say, you wouldn't have a dragon cooped up here somewhere, would you? I haven't been set on fire for way too long."

"What?" Vilkas did not want to let himself be baited into an argument, but he could not help that question escaping.

His answer, however, encouraged the whelp to go on. He cleared his throat and in a deep voice, no doubt an imitation of Vilkas' he said "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Then, answering his own words, he continued "No, the pleasure is entirely on my side."

- "You seem to be a capable warrior, the Companions welcome you."

- "Why, thank you. I have heard so much about you already. Joining all those brave souls has always been a dream of mine."

They arrived at the door and Wulf still kept up his monologue of small talk.

Vilkas' patience was at an end. "Will you...", he began, but did not get much further.

"No", Wulf interrupted him quickly, holding his hands out and silencing him. "Don't say anything. You'll just ruin it, now that I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy inside."

Before he knew he had moved, Vilkas had the whelp by his collar and pressed him brutally against the wall. There was a flash of surprise on Wulf's face and Vilkas had the satisfaction of towering over him. His greater height was an advantage he felt no remorse playing out to its full extent. Vilkas leaned in, dangerously so, until their noses almost touched. He was intimidating and he knew it.

In a calm tone he said "I don't like you, whelp. Whatever you're hiding, you're not very good at it." He dug his fingers in the other man's shoulders to make his point clear. Vilkas had the pleasure when Wulf winced with pain and continued "You walk out now, and I'll let you go. You stay –", Vilkas put more force in his grip and let his voice drop until it was barely audible " – and I'll make sure you won't walk out again." He could smell the sweat on the other man and it held the anticipation of a fight, but little fear, which angered Vilkas enough he wanted to underline his words by slamming Wulf against the wall.

Before he could do so, however, Vilkas was brought up short by the loud cluck of a tongue. "Now, the two of you, take it to a room!", a voice said sharply.

Caught by Tilma. The old woman had been like a mother to him and Farkas. Knowing how they must have looked like, pressed up against the wall, Vilkas felt himself blush furiously. He let go of the whelp, like he had been burned and stormed through the door, wanting nothing more but to get away. Wulf barked out a cruel laugh. It followed Vilkas up the stairs and out, into the training ring.

With the other man gone and the old lady glaring daggers at him, Wulf feigned an innocent smile and hid his hands behind his back, where he put his fighting knife back in its sheath. Vilkas had never even seen the blade.

Vilkas stomping out of Jorrvaskr in a foul mood and Wulf following a moment after attracted some attention. People gathered in the courtyard and somebody shouted "Look here, everyone. Fresh meat." Amongst the onlookers Wulf recognised some faces, Aela and Ria being some of them, but of Farkas there was no sign.

Vilkas took up position in the ring and drew his blade. It was not lost on Wulf that this was no training weapon. He expected to be told to pick up a blunted weapon himself, but when no such request came, Wulf readied his own sword and shield. The two combatants began to circle each other slowly. Vilkas' warning still rang loudly in Wulf's mind. He could not allow the bigger man to get a hit on him. Even armed with a shield, a blow from that great weapon might well break his arm. It was a good thing he had an ace up his sleeve, but it was not one he was planning to use, unless it was absolutely necessary. He had long ago blended out the excited cries and shouts of the crowd. When he fought, everything around Wulf ceased to be, but his adversary.

Without warning, Vilkas attacked. For a man of his size he moved with surprising speed, stabbing his sword at Wulf's face and when his opponent slapped the point away, he followed it up with a wide, overhand swing. Wulf did not bother to block, dancing out of the weapon's path instead. He dodged and turned, parried and slashed, but try as he might, he could not gain the upper hand.

A two handed weapon had its drawbacks, however, and they became obvious as their fight dragged on. Its weight meant it was powerful, but also slow and heavy. Vilkas lacked both the strength and endurance to swing the blade as effortlessly as his brother. When he saw the big warrior tiring, Wulf switched to a more offensive combat style, wearing Vilkas out and slowly hacking away at the other man's defences. So far, Vilkas' greater reach gave him the advantage and he kept Wulf at a distance.

Suddenly though, Wulfryk saw his chance. Around him everything had grown quiet, save for the two men's panting breaths and the ring of steel. The people gathered to watch held their breath in anticipation. Wulf had just pushed at Vilkas with his shield, driving his adversary into a defensive stance. Vilkas held his sword horizontally, ready to catch an incoming blow, but not to strike out himself. There was only one way to deal with somebody wielding such a great weapon, Wulf knew. The trick was to get close enough, so that the opponent's weapon would be rendered useless. And now, Wulf had Vilkas exactly where he wanted him to be. Quick as an adder, Wulfryk struck.

Vilkas' eyes grew wide when Wulf stepped right into his space and the other man's hand closed on the ricasso of his sword. Vilkas had a fraction of a heartbeat to realize the mistake he had made. With both hands closed around the hilt of his sword, he had no way to get rid of his challenger. Then, an elbow collected with his face.

With the element of surprise on his side, Wulf stunned his adversary. He stepped sideways, past Vilkas and hooking one leg around the big Nord's legs, he pushed him over. Followed up by a hard bash with his shield to Vilkas' temple, to make sure the man would stay down. Stunned, Vilkas dropped his sword, so that he could use his hands to break the fall. Nonetheless, he collided with the stone floor rather painfully.

Vilkas tried to get up, but he was stopped by the point of a sword held to his throat. "You're dead", the man standing above him said. It took a while for the words to sink in. Blinking blood out of his eyes, it slowly downed on him that he had lost. Vilkas had lost to the cocky whelp.

"You did not fight honourably", he bit back, in an attempt to save the last shreds of his honour. Wulf had removed his sword and stepped aside to give Vilkas room to get up, which he did, albeit he was slightly wobbly on his feet. Their fight had lasted only a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity had passed.

"That makes you a very honourable corpse." Wulfryk's words rang through the silence.

Vilkas looked around and saw that all eyes were fixed on them. A collective gasp had gone up when Wulf had made his move, but now one would be able to hear a pin drop. To borrow time and collect himself, Vilkas picked up his sword and rubbed a sleeve across his face. The shield had ripped a shallow gash across his right temple, but apart from a threatening headache and a possible light concussion, Vilkas was unharmed. Wulf had pulled his blow, obviously. Otherwise, he would not be standing anytime soon.

"Congratulations", Vilkas ground out, mostly for the onlooker's sake. "You passed the first test." The words were bitter on his tongue and he had to pull himself together in order not to spit at Wulf's feet. Instead, he decided to send the man away. And to remind him who was in charge around here. "You're still just a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you. Here's my sword. Take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful with it, it's probably worth more than you are!" With those words Vilkas stalked away. He urgently needed some time alone, to cool down. Should he lose control, the consequences would be beyond grave and today he had come too close far too many times.

"Right away, shield-brother Grumpy", Wulf muttered at the warrior's retreating back.

He did take the sword to Eorlund and on his way back, he met Aela. There was a man at her side, but he offered neither greeting nor a smile. Wulf had seen him amongst the onlookers, but the man's name was unknown to him. Aela grinned up at Wulf, complimenting him on a good fight and cheerfully adding "Don't mind Vilkas. He's a sore loser."

It was a good thing she did not know about what had transpired below Jorrvaskr. Speaking of the devil, just then a huge figure blocked out the light. Thankfully it was only Farkas.

"Have you seen my brother, Aela?", he asked.

She nodded her head. "He's off, sulking. The new blood beat him in the training ring", she explained for the warrior, who had missed Wulf's fight with his brother. Turning to Wulf Aela added "It's good to see you've made it up here."

"You know this one?", Aela's companion spoke up. "I saw him training with Vilkas", he added with a contemplative frown. Apparently he had too much respect for his shield-brother to say Wulf wiped the floor with Vilkas' ass.

Aela nodded. "I do know him. He happened on us when Farkas, Ria and I were dealing with that pesky Giant. Handled himself well then, too. And he gave Vilkas quite a thrashing."

"Don't let him catch you saying that." Skjor's tone was hard and he walked away without any parting words.

Aela was trying hard not to roll her eyes heavenwards. Her lover was suspicious at best. Instead she turned her attention to the two remaining men. "Farkas."

"Did you call me?", the warrior in question asked, as if there was another who went by that name.

Aela lost the battle with herself and rolled her eyes then. "Of course I did, Icebrain", she said with a heavy sigh. Despite the show there was an obvious note of fondness in her voice "Why don't you show our new blood where he can sleep?"

Farkas nodded in agreement and turning to Wulf he told him "I remember you. Come, follow me." Farkas walked slowly in the direction where the dormitory of the newer members of the Companions were. "Skjor and Aela like to tease, but they're good people. They challenge us to be our best. It's nice to have a new face around. It gets boring here sometimes. I hope we get to keep you. This can be a rough life." Realizing he had probably said a lot of stupid stuff, Farkas shut up.

When Wulf did not comment, he went on somewhat shyly "My brother Vilkas is a better talker than me."

"I beg to differ." Wulf sounded bitter, but Farkas did not ask why. He knew his brother could be a little inapproachable at times.

As they walked, Farkas studied the warrior next to him. Wulf chose that very moment to yawn widely. Now that the excitement of the fight had worn off, he felt bone tired. He yawned once more and when his jaw creaked audibly, he cast Farkas a sheepish grin. The big warrior understood and with a small chuckle he patted Wulf on the back. The gesture was well-meant, but it almost sent Wulf sprawling, and he stumbled when Farkas' giant paw pounded against his back.

They arrived at their destination and Farkas stopped in front of the door, making a vague motion with his hand that encompassed the room. "The quarters are up here. Just pick a bed and fall into it when you're tired. Tilma will keep the place clean. She always has."

Wulf just nodded in answer. There were free beds and that alone made the room look like heaven.

Farkas shuffled his feet nervously. He was not sure whether he was supposed to say something more. He liked the newcomer, but did not quite know how to behave around him. It was the same problem he had had with every new Companion, until they became one of them and things fell into place all by themselves. So he cleared his throat. "All right, so here you are. Looks like the others are eager to meet you." Indeed there was a small commotion inside the room, as everyone there tried to catch a glimpse of the two men.

"Oh, and one more thing: come to me or Aela if you're looking for work. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor or Vilkas might have things for you to do." Farkas paused for a moment. He had covered all the important points, he thought. "Good luck. Welcome to the Companions."

Wulf's expression brightened immediately. Farkas' awkward words made him feel welcome in all the ways he had mocked Vilkas about. "Thank you, Farkas", he said sincerely. "Good night."

"'Night." The big warrior retreated and let Wulf get acquainted with the other Companions. And he still had his brother to find.

As soon as Wulfryk entered the room, he was swarmed by the others. Apparently Jorrvaskr really did not see many new faces. Ria looked like she was happy to see him again and Torvar and Athis both congratulated him upon passing the old man's inspection – and beating Vilkas in the training ring.

Njada was...something else. Her first words to him were "I'm still trying to figure out why they let you in in first place."

Wulf blinked, surprised at the amount of hostility she could show a complete stranger. It seemed Nord were experts at doing just that. "Kodlak thinks I am good enough", he replied. Tired, he did just what Farkas had suggested: he fell into one of the empty beds.

"I wouldn't have allowed you to join", Njada responded, stubbornly.

Wulf stretched out on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head and wishing her away. When it did not work and after twenty seconds she still stood there, glaring at him, he finally enquired "Are you Kodlak?"

"No." Njada furrowed her brows, wondering what he was getting at.

"Then why are you bothering me?" Wulfryk was tired. He had fought a real Giant yesterday and a human one today and tomorrow he would be on the road again, something he loved, but at times the discomforts got to even him.

"Seriously, you need to work on your people skills. With the welcome I got it's a wonder the Empire ever bothered to invade"; he muttered.

Njada obviously did not know what to make of him. "You dare insult me?", she cried and her voice rose in anger. "I am Njada Stonearm!"

"Keep it up and you'll be forever known as Njada Wallface", Wulf warned her softly.

"Hah, take that, bitch!", Athis yelled. It did the trick of distracting her and she left, starting another heated argument with the Dunmer.

Wulf closed his eyes. He was warm, his belly was full and he had a roof over his head. All things considered, he was a lot better off than he had been when he had set out on this mad journey.

And tomorrow? He would deal with it when it arrived.

* * *

Hmmm, who's the greater ass in this one: Wulf of Vilkas? =)


	6. Chapter 5

Hello, everyone! First of all, thank you so very much for your comments, follows and favs! Wow! I really did not expect this great kind of response (I'm doing a little happy-dance right now).

to Springinkerl: I don't want to spoil anything, so let's just say those two are going to bash heads on a regular basis =P

And finally: here's some more Ralof, just because.

* * *

Bright and early Wulf found himself on the road again, riding back towards the village he had just come from. By his standards it meant that he set out before midday. Thankfully, the journey to Riverwood remained pleasantly uneventful. He arrived early on the fourth day, being in no hurry to begin his difficult and quite possibly dangerous mission. Without anything better to do, Wulf once more steered his horse to Gerdur's home.

He found Hod in front of the house, chopping wood and Ralof who sat on the porch bent over a huge pot, sleeves and trousers rolled up while he peeled potatoes.

The lumberjack saw Wulf first and he called out in greeting. "Wulf! We did not expect to see you so soon." For one moment worry clouded the Nord's expression. "Did everything go well?"

Ralof's head jerked up when he heard his friend's name accompanied by a clatter of hooves. A huge grin spread over his face.

Wulf smiled as he dismounted. "It did", he said to put the man at ease. "The Jarl has heard our cause and his soldiers should arrive here soon."

Hod breathed a loud sigh of relief, nodded his head and went back to work. Ralof on the other hand dropped his knife and wiped his hands on his trousers, before he walked up to Wulf and pulled him into a brief but warm hug. He was not wearing any shoes, Wulf noticed. The blond Nord threw an arm across his friends' shoulders and steered him into the house, where he poured his guest a cup of an infusion made from lemon balm and honey. Wulf accepted the cold drink gratefully. The days have been getting hotter and the cool liquid tasted delicious as it slid down his parched throat. While he sipped he could see that Ralof was all but bouncing on his feet, obviously keen on sharing some news.

"Something has you in a very good mood", Wulf stated, hiding his smile behind the mug.

Ralof laughed out loud and seated himself at the table, next to Wulfryk. "You could say that!", he began. "Several Imperial troops passed through Riverwood, the day after you set out for Whiterun."

Wulf's brows shot up. Imperial troops shouldn't be good news to a Stormcloak soldier, so there was probably more to it.

He did not have to wait long, as Ralof continued eagerly. "They booked quarters at the inn. Hod overheard them talk." There was a gleeful sparkle in Ralof's eyes. "They were complaining about how Tullius was going to have their hides for letting Ulfric slip through their fingers."

So the Jarl and his men had managed to escape Helgen after all. Wulfryk had wondered what had happened to them. Although he was not devoted to the Stormcloak cause like Ralof, he was glad the Imperial plans had been crossed nonetheless. "Did any Stormcloaks come this way?", he asked.

Ralof shook his head in negation. "They must have turned around and taken the south road."

"Will you be joining them?", Wulf wanted to know.

"Soon, I will." Ralof seemed excited at the prospect. "Taking a break has been nice, but Ulfric will need good men before long. However, if they really take the mountain passes it might take them quite a while to reach Windhelm. I won't have to set out immediately." Changing the topic, Ralof nudged Wulf with his elbow. "And how did your meeting with the Jarl go? Did you manage to call him a name to his face and are now on the run?"

"Insult a Jarl? Me?", Wulf asked incredulously. "Never!", he spat vehemently. His harsh tone was betrayed by his silly grin though. "As I've told Hod, the meeting went well." Wulfryk guessed that Ralof might be curious as to the reason why he had returned, although the other man had not asked him yet. "I've come because of an assignment I was tasked with, as well as for reasons of my own. Oh, and you are now talking to the newest member of the Companions", Wulf added proudly.

"You are a Companion?" Surprise and admiration coloured Ralof's voice. He clapped Wulf's shoulder and started "How...", but before he could finish, a piercing shout came from outside.

"Ralof! The potatoes won't peel themselves!"

Ralof winced as he heard Gerdur's scream. A moment later the woman herself entered the house.

"Look who came to visit us, sister", Ralof spoke in a placating voice. Wulfryk waved his hand in greeting.

Gerdur gave their guest a scalding look and levelled her finger at Wulf's face. "You! You are nothing but trouble!", she declared in a huff.

"Ermm..." Wulf was not sure what he had done wrong this time. Casting Gerdur a nervous glance he turned to Ralof and whispered "What is she talking about?"

Ralof could not hold back a chuckle. "It's about Frodnar. Remember what you told him when you were here? Well, he's been running all around town, telling everybody how he 'molested' the village girls. Gerdur had to call for a town's meeting to put the other parent's minds at ease. Even now they probably think we are very weird at best."

"Oh." Wulf tried to look abashed, but he was fighting a losing battle with amusement. "Why is it my fault your son's a brat?", he finally asked Gerdur sweetly.

"Oh, you!" Gerdur grabbed the nearest object, which turned out to be a huge ladle and slapped Wulfryk upside the head with it.

"Outsch!", Wulf cried out and turned beseeching eyes on Ralof, who did nothing to help him out of his predicament. "That's...domestic violence", Wulf finally stated in a pitiable voice, rubbing his sore head and the bruise he already felt forming.

"It serves you right." There was not a hint of regret in Gerdur's voice. She took a seat at the table as well and in appeasement she refilled Wulf's empty mug. Much calmer she asked him "What brings you back to Riverwood?"

Wulfryk took a deep breath. "I am going to Helgen." His statement was met with the silence and bewildered looks he had expected.

"Why?", Ralof asked at last, disbelieving anyone would want to go back _there_.

Wulf's simple explanation was "I have left a few things behind."

"Things of great value?", Ralof enquired further.

"Only of a sentimental one", Wulf replied. Seeing the sceptical look the siblings shared he pressed on "I am not going to risk my life trying to get them back", he assured the two Nord "but I would feel bad if I did not try."

Gerdur nodded her understanding and promptly asked "Ralof, why don't you help Wulfryk?"

"What?!" Ralof seemed to be as confused by Gerdur's sudden change of attitude as Wulf was.

"You have been resting your behind on my doorstep for far too long", the woman answered resolutely. "It has been good to see you again, Wulfryk. Of course you are welcome to stay for the night." Her tone had turned much kinder than when she had first caught sight of him.

Wulf's head felt like it was spinning. "Actually, I had hoped to cover some more ground today. But I appreciate the offer, thank you."

"As you wish." Gerdur cast her brother a meaningful gaze. "You'd better pack, or you'll be walking barefoot."

Ralof made a show of grumbling unhappily, but the truth was he was already itching for some action. This peaceful life of farming was nothing for him. If Gerdur hadn't beaten him to it, he would have offered to go with Wulf himself. He made quick work of washing up and afterwards he dressed and packed. Last, he picked up his axe that had been sitting idly in a corner for too long. He tested the edge. If they were really going to Helgen, the blade might draw blood soon. Imperial blood. A grim smirk crossed Ralof's face and his eyes lit up at the prospect.

Once more the two Nord set out, but this time they were riding towards danger, not fleeing it. Much as Wulfryk was glad to be accompanied by Ralof, his horse was annoyed with the other man's mare. The animals settled into their old routine of bickering that left their riders amused, but also slightly exasperated. Still, together the journey passed a lot quicker and for once even the fair weather held.

On the last night of their travel Wulf and Ralof camped inside a thick patch of trees that would render their campfire invisible to prying eyes, unless somebody was to crawl through the underbrush and then they would be able to hear it long before anybody would see them. The last thing they wanted was to be caught by Imperials again. The fire cracked merrily and two hares Wulf had shot were slowly roasting on spits. The men were busy discussing plans for the morrow as they sat huddled together on their bedrolls. Their 'tent' consisted of a cover made from oiled leather they spanned overhead to keep off eventual rain. In the distance, thunder rolled and the sky was lit up by sheet lightening.

In the morning the ground was covered by a fresh sprinkling of dew and the sun was twinkling through the branches. Wulfryk awoke as warm spots of light danced across his face. He stretched, sat up and shook Ralof awake. The blond Nord mumbled something intelligible and burrowed deeper under covers. Still, by the time Wulf came back from relieving himself Ralof was up and groggily packing their belongings. The cold leftovers from yesterday served as breakfast. In silence the two men rode up to Helgen, until Ralof signed that they had gone far enough. By then both of them had shaken their morning sleepiness.

They left their horses tethered outside the town's view and carefully, under the cover of trees, they approached Helgen. Like bandits they squatted in the bushes observing the town's walls carefully. Unlike the day when they had arrived by cart, they could make out no soldiers patrolling the battlements. It was certainly strange, after the dragon attack Wulf had expected the watch to be doubled. No matter how much he strained his eyes though, he could not spot as much as a single helmet. And it was too quiet. The birds made a merry ruckus, but other than that there were no voices to be heard. There were no heavy footfalls of armoured men, no creaking wagons and no neighing horses.

Slowly, as Ralof and Wulf made their round, they came to the main road and caught a glimpse of the northern gates. They were unguarded as well. That was certainly not normal. Wulfryk handed his bow to Ralof. "Cover me", he told the man tensely and left his hiding place. As he walked up to the gates, Wulf expected a voice to call out anytime, but no outcry rang out. He had not been able to see it from where he had been hidden, but the gates stood slightly ajar. Wulf pressed himself against the woodwork and pried a wing further open, risking a glimpse at the courtyard that lay beyond. It was empty.

Ralof saw Wulfryk relaxing marginally. His friend waved him to come and together they entered the town.

"They have abandoned it", Ralof whispered.

"Well, it's just ruins now", Wulf replied. Why they were speaking so softly he could not tell, but somehow he felt the need to remain undetected.

"That may be so, but the walls still stand strong", Ralof answered.

The stillness that hung over Helgen made Wulf's skin crawl. As he stepped from the shadows of the gate into the sunlight and cautiously walked across the deserted square, he thought he could feel invisible eyes tracking him. Staring out from the blackened and crumbling ruins. Ralof sensed it too and his grip on his axe grew tighter. A slight breeze picked up and the wind howled ominously through the desolate streets. Helgen was a town of ghosts now.

Wulfryk stepped around the fallen structure of a house and what might have been the charred remains of a human corpse. Now that he was here he would not let himself be scared off by what might just be his overactive imagination. Instinct told him that he was not welcome here. A certain hostility lingered over the place. A watchfulness. Wulf shuddered. The faster they found what they had come for, the sooner they could leave.

Navigating the streets was not easy. They were strewn with rubble and wooden beams and some buildings had collapsed and blocked parts off entirely. Fortunately, Ralof's orientation was much better than Wulf's, as his memory of the place was not limited to a single afternoon. When they had captured the prisoners, the Imperials had taken their possessions and loaded them onto the carts. They could have unloaded them at the inn, the barracks or the keep. Then again, maybe they haven't had the time to do so. Wulf could not remember. He had been too occupied by his impending execution to pay any notice to what was happening to his things.

They searched for a good while, without success. Wulf could see Ralof become increasingly bored. He did not let his own frustration show, although disappointment cut through him like a blade. Wulf should not have gotten his hopes up. After all, what chances did he have at finding a single backpack amidst all those ruins and after the Imperials have had nearly three weeks to dispose of his belongings? He called out to Ralof, to let his friend know that he could end his search. Despite their futile attempts, Ralof had not complained once and for that alone Wulfryk was grateful beyond measure.

The Khajiit way of life had taught him not to get attached to worldly possessions and what were a few lost things compared to a friend he had won? He crouched down and picked up a handful of dirt that he let slowly trickle through his hand. Hopefully, Wulf would never have to return to Helgen. The crunch of footsteps made him look up. A pair of ravens took flight as Ralof approached, cackling loudly. The birds had picked at the rotting cadaver of a horse.

Wulfryk gazed at the dead animal. It was still strapped to an overturned wagon. By the looks of it, the stables had collapsed entirely. Wulf's eyes suddenly lit up and his heartbeat picked up. The wagons were buried beneath the debris! And if nobody had bothered to clear it away, it meant that nobody had unloaded the carts, which meant that he had just found what he was looking for.

"Ralof!", Wulf shouted excitedly. "I found it! Lend me a hand!"

They had to shift some of the rubble, careful not to let anything fall on top of them, until Wulf could slip underneath and crawl to the wagons. He made quick work of sorting through the chests, until at long last his hands closed around the familiar patched leather of his backpack and his long-serving cuirass of leather and steel.

Ralof heard his friend's cheerful laugh and a moment later Wulf clambered out from under what had been the stables. He was dishevelled, stained with soot and his shirt had a tear at the side, but there was a bright smile on his face. Wulf quickly opened the top flap of his backpack and started to sort through his belongings. He tossed his clothes out messily, followed by cooking utensils and a few other things he did not care about.

Ralof's eyes grew wide as he saw Wulfryk pull a huge volume out of his backpack and unwrap it. What his friend was doing with the behemoth of a book, Ralof had no idea, but Wulf pressed the tome to his chest like one would a friend long lost.

Wulfryk noticed Ralof staring at him and cleared his throat. "I have been working on it for fifteen years", Wulf said slightly embarrassed. The book was a record of his travels, of the places he had seen in his time abroad and of the people he had encountered. Happy, Wulf wrapped it up in the oiled leathers that kept water away, again. Most of his treasured possessions were here. He found his favourite hunting knife, a couple of tokens that served no purpose, except as mementos and the clay pot that contained his white war paint, a formula Wulf had once cheated a drunken merchant out of. Ralof gave a soft whistle when he saw Wulf spread out a roll of lock picking tools. His friend obviously had a shady past.

"They were a parting gift", Wulfryk defended himself.

"Whom from, the Thieves' Guild?"

"No, just the Khajiit I lived with for a while." Wulf guessed most people would fail to see any difference. He did not care. Putting everything away quickly, Wulf buckled on his armour and shouldered his backpack, the weight a familiar burden. "Let's get out of here", he said. "I can't wait to leave this place behind once and for all."

"Ralof nodded his agreement enthusiastically. "Too many bad memories", he added silently and Wulf was not sure whether he was talking about recent events or something that had occurred a long time ago. "So now that we have taken care of your own little quest, what was that assignment you mentioned?", Ralof enquired to distract himself.

The Nord walked back to where they had left their horses and the rest of their equipment. They had to split the contents of Wulf's pack between the two horses in order to be able to take everything with them. Wulf did not answer for a time and when he did it was to ask whether Ralof still wanted to accompany him.

Something was bothering his friend, Ralof could see that much. He had followed Wulf to the remains of a town where he had been branded a traitor by his fellow soldiers, where he and the man he fought for nearly had been executed and where a dragon had appeared. Whatever was wrong with Wulf's destination, it could hardly be worse. "Spit it out, where are we going?"

"To your favourite place that you've always dreamt about visiting", Wulf threw back, but his heart sank. Ralof would not like the answer.

"The Satin brothel in Solitude?"

"Almost." Wulf chewed on the inside of his cheek, before admitting "It's Bleak Falls Barrow."

Ralof cast his friend a dark glare. "Wulf, that's not funny."

"That's because it's not a joke." Wulfryk was dead serious.

Ralof had been wrong. There were worse things than Helgen and Wulf had just managed to find one. Ralof cursed "Talos' balls, Wulf, what do you want from that place?"

"_I_ want nothing more than to stay away from it. The Jarl, however, wishes for me to retrieve an artefact called the 'dragonstone'. And since it's inside the Barrow, that's where I'm heading." Some time passed before Wulf quietly added "You don't have to come with me, you know."

Ralof rubbed his eyes. He would not abandon his friend on this dangerous mission. "You won't get rid of me so easily", he said instead. Somewhere, deep inside a cowardly little voice wished he could take those words back. Ralof crushed the urge and resigned himself to the fact that he might just have made a huge mistake. At least he had a week to get used to the thought of entering the one place he had always tried to avoid.

The countryside around Riverwood slowly began to feel familiar to Wulf, as he had passed it five times already. Gerdur was happy to see them unharmed and whilst she had not liked the thought of them going to Helgen, she believed that entering Bleak Falls Barrow was a suicidal fool's errand. In spite of this, she had no suggestions what Wulf was to say to Jarl Balgruuf if he did not retrieve the dragonstone.

Anything that could be spared, Wulf left with Gerdur. He spent one more night with Ralof's family and on the morrow he and Ralof departed for Bleak Falls Barrow. Ralof rode in the lead and at first they took the same road that Wulf had travelled to Whiterun, but after passing the stone bridge that spanned the White River, they turned left, not right. Wulfryk was happy to follow Ralof as they rode up the winding mountain path. Today he was wearing his white war paint – a streak that started above his left brow, cut across it and continued under his eye, where it split in two curved lines that reached down to his beard line – again, something he had not bothered with since he had left his home in Elsweyr. As a caravan guard he had always painted his face. Apart from it being a trademark of his people, it made him look the part of a savage barbarian and fit most people's ideas about Nords, who were known for their bravery and prowess in battle even far beyond the borders of Skyrim. He had been much more likely to get a job if he looked tough. His tall, bulky frame certainly came in handy, too.

In fact, Wulf had once hired upon a caravan with three other of his countrymen. When bandits ambushed them, the four of them had rushed from cover, bellowing 'victory or Sovngarde!' at the top of their lungs and charged their attackers, brandishing their weapons like madmen. The very sight of the Nord bearing down upon them had been enough to send the bandits scurrying. The caravan had reached its destination unhindered and without loss of life or goods. The merchant had been so impressed, he kept Wulfryk and the others in his employ for three years straight.

Wulf was suddenly jerked out of his thoughts, as his horse stopped abruptly. Before them, a landslide had turned the path into a trail so narrow and steep they had to dismount and lead their horses. Their progress was slow, as it was not easy with the animals and they lost much time whenever they had to stop and find an alternative route. The ascent took them two days and by the end of the second they were high over Riverwood and had a stunning vista of the valley and the blue ribbon of the river winding below. As night fell Ralof and Wulf stumbled up the last slope. The horses fared better than the humans; their night vision was more acute. They were so close though, they did not want to spend another night in the woods, especially since it had drizzled throughout the day and both longed for a dry spot to rest.

Bleak Falls Barrow stood out against the starry sky, a yawning black maul ready to devour them. Up close the ruins looked even more foreboding than they already did from a distance. Just then, faint laughter reached Wulf's ears. The horses lifted their heads and perked up their ears. Wulf and Ralof exchanged a look. Apparently they were not the only ones who sought to enter the barrow. The only question that remained was whether these were honest folk seeking shelter or grave robbers. The chances were high it was the latter.

Their path was sufficiently lighted by the stars and two moons and the Nord had not lit any torches. They would need those later, inside the barrow. Under the cover of darkness Wulf and Ralof walked the road that had narrowed out and a bend took them close to a watchtower. The warm glow of a fire emanated from the entry and several voices appeared to have a drunken argument.

Ralof tied off the horses out of sight as Wulf strung his bow. They crept closer to listen in on the squabble.

"I says we don't wanna wait around for that Dark Elf bastard. He'll stab us in the back, he'll do, just you see", a voice rose and drowned out the others.

A woman answered him "We came so far, you want to run now, Brand? Think about all the treasures hidden inside that Barrow."

"I care less about the treasure with every day. Only thing I can think of is how that barrow 's gonna be my own grave."

"Listen up folks, we got us a coward here", the woman shouted and her statement was accompanied by a chorus of cheers.

"Fuck you, woman." There was the sound of armour clinking and the warrior declared "I gotta piss", and left the tower. Night-blind due to looking at the fire, he stumbled right past where Wulf and Ralof were standing. They froze; if the bandit saw them and raised the alarm, they would never get inside the barrow. Ralof raised his axe, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Wulf shook his head slightly. Ralof watched as his friend padded after the bandit on silent feet. With his black hair and suntanned skin, Wulf disappeared into the night.

Wulfryk found the man watering a tree and snuck up, putting his bow down and drawing a dagger. The bandit never heard him, before Wulf had a good grip on his hair with one hand and held the blade to his target's throat with the other. Wulf was careful to stand beside the man and not behind him, where he could get kicked or his face bashed in, but with both hands on his cock, there was little the bandit could do without Wulf noticing first. "Shout and I'll gut you like a hoarker", he told the surprised outlaw, who pissed on his own leg from shock, without noticing. "Brand, wasn't it?", Wulf asked.

The other man gave a tiny nod, mindful of the razor sharp edge at his throat.

"Are the others your friends?"

This time Brand shook head. "No", he croaked hoarsely.

"How many of you are there?", Wulf enquired further.

It took some time for the bandit to answer, but that was probably more due to him trying to get the count right in his inebriated state, than from an attempt to deceive Wulrfyk. If Wulf thought otherwise, he would have slit his throat without hesitation.

"There's three in the tower and four more inside the barrow", Brand rasped out. "And there's Arvel, the Dunmer. There were others, but they're all dead now."

"Do the others inside the barrow have any reason to go looking for you?"

"Not until tomorrow midday. That's when we change the watch", the outlaw responded.

"Good", Wulf praised him softly. "Now if I told you to run down that path", he gave the bandit a little nudge in the direction he meant and continued "you wouldn't think about turning back and warning the others, would you? There's no need for you to die if you are gone by the time I count to three."

"I won't tell the others, I swear", the bandit began to sob, but even now he did not plead for his life.

Damn it, Wulf couldn't in cold blood murder somebody who cried like that. He withdrew his dagger and with a sharp kick to the bandit's knee he sent the man sprawling. It gave Wulf enough time to pick up his bow and draw an arrow that he aimed at the outlaw's chest. "One", Wulf began to count.

The bandit scampered up and the look on his face clearly said that he had not truly believed to be getting out of this encounter alive. Now though he wasted no time in following Wulf's orders. With his dick still out and flapping around he turned and bolted down the path.

Wulf relaxed his bow, sheathed his dagger and slunk back to where Ralof was waiting. He made sure Ralof heard him approach; the last thing Wulfryk wanted was his friend's axe buried in his skull.

"You disposed of that one?", Ralof asked quietly.

"I let him go", Wulf whispered. "I doubt we will be seeing him again and he was very cooperative."

"If you're sure", Ralof muttered.

Wulf nodded, though in the dark the gesture was probably lost on Ralof. "There's eight more, three of them inside this tower", he told his brother in arms.

The woman they had heard before took that very moment to stand in the doorway and scream "Did your dick fall off, 'And? Are you searching for it in the woods?" Her laughter was cut short when Wulf's arrow passed through her chest, dropping her dead in an instant.

The arrow flew on and landed with a clatter between the two remaining bandits who stared at it for the fraction of a second and then jumped into action. A burly man went for his battleaxe, while the remaining man scampered for a bow of his own. Wulfryk decided to shoot down the archer. He hit him high in the back, but the wound probably was not fatal, though it should be enough to prevent him from drawing a bow. And then there was no more time for shooting, because the axe-wielding warrior was storming right at them. His size alone made him a formidable enemy and he was not neatly as drunk as his comrades. He swiped his blade high, aiming for their heads. Wulf jumped back, but Ralof ducked beneath the blow and his own weapon hit the bandit in the shin, where it got stuck halfway through. If Ralof had not been so rushed, he would have hacked the man's leg right off. As it was the injury was enough to stop the warrior in his tracks. He went down on one knee and looked at the axe sticking out of his leg in surprise. Obviously, he had not yet registered the pain. Wulf did not give him any time to scream, however. His shield bashed the outlaw's face in and he thrust his sword through the man's chest to put him down quickly. Ralof dashed inside the tower to finish off the archer.

The remaining bandit spat bloody phlegm at Ralof's feet. "Bastards." The blond Nord killed him by sticking a dagger through his throat and the bandit went down gurgling and coughing blood.

The fight was over in less than one minute and with the remaining outlaws none the wiser. Wulf had enjoyed the fight, short as it had been, because it lifted his spirits that had been pretty much dampened by the foul weather. Ralof did not feel half as cheerful. "The beautiful places you always take me", he complained as he and Wulf dragged the corpses and dumped them down the slope behind the watchtower.

"What did you expect, Princess? Dinner and a date in a palace?"

"I wouldn't say no to dinner", Ralof grumbled.

"Help yourself, then. The bandits left plenty of food behind." Wulf wiped his hands and went inside the tower, Ralof in tow. He'd feel better once he had a change of dry clothes and a full belly. They had hidden their horses away on the other side if the barrow, where the other bandits were far less likely to stumble across them than this close to the tower. Now Wulfryk put out the fire and closed the door to the tower, barring it with a wooden plank.

They ate and spread their bedrolls in a backroom, away from the pool of blood that had formed where the bandit had bled out. Splitting the night's watch between two people was an uncomfortable affair, as it meant none would get enough sleep and both of them were tired from hiking up the mountain for two days. If the Brand had told the truth, and Wulf believed that he did, they didn't have anything to fear until tomorrow. That night Wulfryk went to sleep with one eye open.

* * *

**AN:** I've worked out a rough draft for future chapters of BtS. It's going to have approximately 20 and events will center around Whiterun.

Thank you all for reading; I hope you have enjoyed the story so far.

(if not, please let me know why and if yes - let me know it too =D)


	7. Chapter 6

I have always loved those chilling scenes in books where the characters had to traverse somewhere underground. I hope I did Bleak Falls Barrow credit with this chapter, because it's pretty hard to write a scene full of suspense when everybody already knows the outcome. But, I did my best. I hope you like it.

* * *

Early next morning Ralof climbed the stairs to look out from the top of the tower. The night had passed without incident and everything was peaceful and quiet. After they had assured themselves that no bandits lurked outside the tower to slaughter them as they themselves had done, Wulf and Ralof gathered their packs and left the tower. Despite it being late spring there was a light cover of snow lying on the ground and the heavy, dark clouds promised more snow to come. Wulfryk was really glad they did not have to spend the night out in the open.

Bleak Falls Barrow was as unwelcoming a place as the name suggested. The entry was locked, but with his tools back in his possession, Wulf made short work of the lock. He pried the door open carefully and peeked inside. Behind the door there was a lofty hall with high stone pillars and a roof that had given away, strewing stone boulders all across the floor. There were dead skeever lying around and at the far end a fire burned low and around it Wulfryk saw two forms lying on makeshift beds of furs. The bandits died quickly and quietly.

That left three outlaws to go. Together they quickly searched the room, but besides some coin the bandit's possessions were meagre. The only thing Wulf lifted off one corpse was a new whetstone. It wasn't like the woman would need it anymore. Ralof picked something up from a rickety table.

"What have you got?", Wulf called over.

Ralof frowned at his find. "It looks like a journal. There are dates written here." The blond Nord's brows scrunched up. "The newest entry is...a week old." He looked up at Wulfryk, a man who had travelled over two hundred miles to regain a book, one he had lugged with him for over a decade. He could probably read. Ralof could not. Wordlessly, he held the journal out. Wulf took it and wandered off in search of a place with better light.

"Let's see." Wulfryk cleared his throat and began to read.

"_Middas, 18__th__ of Second Seed, 4E 201:_

_My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favourite store decortation was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow. _

_Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that 'when you have the Golden Claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands'."_

"It is signed 'Arvel's Journal.'" Arvel...that was the Dunmer leader Brand had mentioned, Wulf remembered. "A literate criminal, what a surprise." He snorted.

Ralof however was looking at the book in disbelief. "Did it say Lucan Valerius?"

"Yep", Wulf answered. "Do you know him?"

"Of course. And so do you. He runs the general goods store in Riverwood", Ralof responded.

"Imperial, short hair, has a sister of...easy virtues?" This couldn't be a coincidence.

"That's the man."

"Well, well. It's a good thing Arvel stole this Claw then, without this", Wulf lifted the journal "we would never have found the key if there really is a locked door." Both men marvelled for a moment at their good fortune, though none were particularly eager to enter the depths of the barrow.

"You know, my father always told me to stay away from these old ruins. Good advice, I'd say." Ralof took a torch from their packs and lit it for them to illuminate the way. He walked ahead, with his shield up and he carried the torch as Wulf followed with an arrow nocked. If they encountered trouble, he should be able to shoot it down, giving Ralof enough time to draw his axe.

The corridor continued straight ahead and took a turn to the left, sloping ever downwards. The air became increasingly cooler and there was moss growing on the damp walls. It was not the first ancient grave Wulf passed through, but those places never were pleasant. As they reached what must have been a lower level, there was a draft that made both man shiver and the flame of their torch flicker madly. Long fingers of shade danced across the walls, greedily reaching out towards them. The shadows of the two men were lengthy, distorted creatures that trailed their owners soundlessly.

The farther they went, the colder it became. The original tunnel had crumpled away at times, but somebody had mined past the blockades. Or maybe the barrow had always been hewn into rock and used a natural cave system. The echo of their footsteps rang loudly in the empty corridor and Wulf winced when Ralof stepped on something that snapped with a loud crack. The ground was uneven and strewn with pebbles and the bones of small animals. Their spluttering torch did not give off much light and Wulf trailed one hand along the wall. The passage was too narrow for two to walk abreast and he cursed when his pack caught on stones that stuck out.

Suddenly Ralof stopped; above the sound of their breath Wulf could make out the faint resonance of footsteps. _Toc. Toc. Toc._ There was a pause before the sound picked up again. _Toc. Toc. Toc._

Whatever was coming their way, Wulfryk readied his bow, though beyond the weak cone of light he could make out absolutely nothing. They stood and waited for the steps to come closer, until the flame of their torch began to wane and it threatened to gutter out entirely, leaving them in impenetrable darkness. Wulf quickly unhooked one of the drenched rags he had readied and Ralof deftly wrapped it around the wooden pole and when the oil caught with a bright flame they both breathed a sigh of relief. And still in the distance a soft tapping continued. _Toc. Toc. Toc_.

Hesitantly, Ralof stepped forward again. Soon a faint rustling could be heard, though it grew louder as they walked on. Before long it evolved into a steady rumble, the rush of fast flowing water. The rhythmic thumps had continued as well, growing in volume. Once again they had to stop, though this time because the way ended and a steep ravine opened up beneath their feet. Wulf lit a second torch and after some searching they found a way that wound downwards in a spiral. How far down, they could not guess and Ralof finally threw down one torch so that they could see. Best to know what they were dealing with, if one misstep one the narrow path would send them tumbling to their deaths on the rocks below.

There was the glow of eyes as the torch flew past, accompanied by a low hissing sound and scurrying noises in the darkness. Rats. Or worse, skeever. Unlike their smaller cousins, skeever were no rodents, but carnivorous animals that were often found living in caves and sewers. Though individual specimen could grow to the size of a middle-sized dog, they were usually roughly cat-sized and posed little danger on their own. Their packs though could number several dozen and through numbers alone they could bring down even a grown man. And they were ridden with disease. Hopefully, the fire would keep them away.

The torch landed on the bank of an underground river some twenty-five feet below. A waterfall descended from a crack in the ceiling with a thunderous boom and the water gushed in a broad stream through the small cave and into a passageway. At the entry a rusty iron gate hung askew in the current and occasionally hit the stone walls with a loud clamour. Wulf and Ralof chuckled at the origin of the sound that had caused them so much distress, but before long all merriment left them, for there was nothing they could do but step into the water if they wanted to go on. Setting down the torches and Wulf's bow on a small outcrop the Nord stripped of their shoes and socks and rolled their pants up. There was no need to ruin good leather clothes. Wulf cautiously entered the water; it was icy cold and about knee-deep. The current was swift and the stones were slippery with silt and foul-smelling weeds and they shifted beneath his feet, causing him almost to lose balance.

They followed the corridor as it led them deeper into the bowels of the earth. After a while the river ended, disappearing beneath the earth with a loud gurgle. Luck was with them, insofar as the way did not branch out. The thought of being struck down here, forever wandering until their fire went out and they were truly lost, to wait for the skeever to come and nibble at their bodies was enough for Ralof to send a prayer to Talos for strength. This place chilled his blood and he was not ashamed to admit it.

When the pathway broadened once more, Wulf and Ralof put on their shoes again and extinguished the second torch. After having two fires, the darkness pressed in on them from all sides, but they might come to regret it later if they unnecessarily wasted their resources. They had been walking in the dark for so long that the dim flame of the torch was enough to blind them, and so they did not notice the soft glow ahead at first. When they did, the Nord almost stumbled out of the corridor and into an open space. A chamber built by humans this time, not a cavern. Wulf threw one glance at the burning lanterns and he grabbed Ralof by the collar and dragged him back into the shadows. "Put the fire out", he whispered insistently.

Ralof plunged the torch into the earth, quickly extinguishing the fire. The light went out none too soon, as two shadows skittered across the floor and up the walls and a man and a woman stepped into view, their silhouettes visible against the light of their lamps. The bandits walked past Wulf's and Ralof's hiding place and out of sight again.

There was a heavy scrape followed by a loud thump.

"That grey-skinned maggot has played us for fools!", the man spoke.

"Let's face it, Soling, he's gone for good and the Claw with him", the woman answered. "There's nothing left here for us, except dustmen to fight. Let's get out before the big crawlers get to us."

After a moment of silence and with a heavy exhale, the man finally acquiesced. "Fine."

Wulfryk stepped out of the shadows. A stocky, dark haired man with a thick beard sat at the table and a tall, lithe woman stood at his back. When he saw them, the man made to stand up, his hand going for his blade, but the woman's nails dug into his arm, stopping him.

"We were just leaving", the woman said, sounding surprisingly calm for someone who had a bow trailed at her chest. The man grunted.

"Good." Wulf's voice had turned as cold as his eyes. He had no trouble to kill somebody who stood in his way, but if possible, he preferred a solution that was not bloody. Not because of his conscience or a misguided sense of pity for his quarry, but because with every fight he risked injury and, consequently, his life. "Best leave now, before I reconsider."

"Do me a favour, would you", the man suddenly spoke up. "If you find him, kill that two-faced, pointy-eared son of a snowtroll."

Wulf gave a curt nod. If the thought of them killing that Arvel guy made the bandit happy, he would play along.

Slowly, the bandit got up and without taking their eyes from Wulf the two outlaws inched their way past, and into the corridor Wulf and Ralof had just come from. Wulfryk let them go. His gut told him they would not bother them again and he could not condemn them for robbing a grave, after all that's what he and Ralof were about to do.

Their way continued down a flight of stairs the bandits had come up a moment before and then through another long tunnel. After a moment of walking Wulf's hand trailed over something different than damp stonework and moss. Something fine and sticky that tore upon contact, but the remains of which clung to his hand.

"Are these cobwebs?"

Ralof moved his torch closer and now they could see fine silvery threads reflecting the light before they burned away. The glistening network spanned the entire ceiling of the passageway and soon it extended over the walls as well. It did not take long for the webs to get denser and the ground showed the first of the spider's victims. The dry, shrunken corpses of small animals littered the floor and crunched under the two Nord's feet. Bats and moths had gotten tangled in the sticky traps and their cocoons hung on the walls like grisly ornaments. Soon, Wulf had to brush the cobwebs out of his face. They got tangled in his and Ralof's hair and clothes nonetheless. He was not squeamish, but the feeling of the cool, silken threads sliding along his skin was decidedly repulsive.

Ralof stopped abruptly. It was so unexpected, Wulf ran into his friend's back. But the proximity allowed him to look past Ralof's shoulder at what blocked their further way. The corridor was spanned by a single, perfect net. Wulf _stared_. The presence of the web was not the cause for his hammering heart though, but the fact that the single strands were as thick as a finger. What kind of spider did it take to make such a thread? Solid enough to catch larger prey and strong enough to snare...a person.

Wulf heard Ralof's sharp intake of breath. "Frostbites."

"What?"

"Spiders", Ralof clarified. "Big ones." He shuddered. "I hate those damn things. Too many eyes, you know."

"Anything else I should know about?", Wulf asked sarcastically.

"Don't get yourself bitten. Their bite is usually not dangerous to a Nord, but it's darn unpleasant."

"Right." Wulf still wondered what he had expected. So this country of giants was also inhabited by oversized spiders. Lovely.

At least they did not have to hack their way through the netting, because Ralof set it aflame with his torch. They watched as the white strands turned molten and dripped to the floor to form a pool of congealed, milky liquid. Ralof shuddered. "This might be a good time for a second torch", he said. "But I doubt the fire will keep them away for long."

They made a few adjustments to their equipment before continuing on wearily. Both men had drawn their weapons and Wulf's bow was once more strapped to his pack, he doubted it would do much good against this kind of enemy. When their way took a sharp turn to the left, they saw the corridor end in a large chamber. Judging by the amount of webs they had just managed to find the spiders' nest. Wulf was not even surprised when he and Ralof cursed simultaneously.

A shrill cry rang out in answer. "Is someone coming? Is that you, Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?"

"There's Arvel", Wulf muttered darkly. It looked like the outlaw was hopelessly entangled in one of the larger webs.

The bandit caught sight of their torches and he began to thrash wildly and scream "Help me! Set me down, please! Please, help me!" His shrieks reverberated loudly in the cavernous hollow.

"He will bring the Frostbites down on us, Wulf silence him", Ralof grit out between clenched teeth, forgetting that Wulf's bow was not in the other man's hand.

"I can't"; Wulfryk bit back. "Shit!" He grit his teeth. If they did not act fast, things might go down badly. "Watch my back", Wulf told Ralof and quickly stepped into the cavern, jogging up to the panicked bandit.

"Shut up, you bloody idiot!", Wulf hissed at the struggling Dunmer. It seemed that he had finally gotten through to the bandit, because the man stilled.

The unexpected silence made Ralof look around, and up. His heard suddenly stopped in its tracks. Wulf had walked right into the beast's lair. Arvel was not the prey. He was the bait.

Wulfryk was busy cutting the outlaw free, when he heard Ralof's panicked cry. "Wulf, look out!" For the first time he heard real fear in Ralof's voice.

He turned around. Ralof had said that Frostbite Spiders were big. He had downplayed their size somewhat. The monster that lowered itself from the ceiling in a languid, graceful way that was terrifying to behold, had a torso as big as Wulf's horse. Its hairy body wobbled between eight long but slender legs and it had fangs that would make a sabretoothed cat proud. In shock, Wulf exclaimed "_Arkay, have mercy!"_ It made the spider turn his way. Behind him, Arvel was blubbering some nonsense. If there ever had been a time for prayer, this was it. When eight black, beady and utterly merciless eyes trained on him, Wulfryk's sword dropped from his limp fingers with a loud clatter.

"Wulf!", Ralof shouted and rushed forward to aid his friend, despite the fact that his blood felt frozen in his veins. He was jerked to a sudden stop, when something latched onto his leg. Another spider had lowered itself behind Ralof and crept up unnoticed. Now it sank its claws in Ralof's thigh. The blond Nord cast one last, futile glance in Wulf's direction, before he was forced to fend for himself, as more of the monsters crawled closer. The one clinging to him died from a powerful stroke of Ralof's axe. There were more that followed, though. He swept his axe high and low, hacking at legs that stretched his way, sinking their sharp claws into his flesh and tearing through it. Before long, Ralof was forced to retreat, to avoid having his legs cut to shreds. He cursed avidly and crushed one of the smaller crawlers by stomping on it. Another spider died when Ralof clove through what he could not quite bring himself to call head. And more spiders came his way, climbing over the bodies of their fallen cousins, fanning out and circling past the warrior who found himself fighting not to be overwhelmed. When a searing pain tore through Ralof's calf, all he could do was to stay upright. He dropped his torch though, and the chamber was darkened instantly, most of the light coming from the flame's reflections in the spiders' multitude of eyes.

Ralof screamed when the venom tore through his body, numbing his leg and making it a dead weight that buckled under the warrior. He renewed his attack with fervour fuelled by fear. If they got his other leg, he would go down, and then nothing would stop the spiders from swarming him.

It seemed an eternity passed as Wulf stood, frozen, looking at the monstrosity that stood before him. Behind the spider, but out of his view, he could hear Ralof scream. He was ripped out of his stasis at once, but his movement also caused the giant Frostbite to act and Wulf saw pincers drenched in venom open and snap shut with a faint click.

He did not think. He acted. Raising his arms, twin balls of fire shot from his outstretched palms and exploded when they hit the monstrous arachnoid. Just to be sure, Wulf followed it up by two more fireballs. It was probably an overkill, as the spider went up in a column of roaring flames and was ripped apart by the force of the magic attack. Its feet were torn off and sailed through the air in various directions while the huge torso thundered to the floor and rolled across it. Thick, oily smoke coiled from the bloated body and eight empty eyesockets stared up at Wulf, who already felt the after-effects of his excessive casting. A throbbing headache threatened to overwhelm him, the prize he had to pay for using magic. It rendered him practically useless, which was why Wulf avoided it unless it was absolutely necessary. This time though, he had no regrets.

When an explosion shook the cave, the light and heat washed over Ralof. At once, the remaining spiders scattered, leaving the Nord bewildered and looking around wildly. Of the giant Frostbite only chunks remained that spread an awful stench and over the remains of the carcass Wulfryk stood, arms still raised, before he slowly sank to his knees.

Ralof looked at his friend like he had seen him for the first time. He had questions he needed to ask, but they could probably wait until they were somewhere safer.

Apparently he would have to be the one to take action. Ralof picked up his fallen torch and made his way to Wulf's side. The other man sat with his hands clenched around his head and when he did not react, Ralof grew worried. Had the huge spider bitten Wulf? He placed a head on Wulfryk's shoulder, giving it a slight shake. "Wulf?"

"'M' fine", Wulf said in a small, miserable voice.

Relief washed through Ralof. Secrets or no, Wulf had just saved their lives. Ralof turned to their one remaining problem: the bandit Arvel.

When he saw Ralof seizing him up, the outlaw began to plead once more "You, set me down, please. Don't leave me, for Arkay's sake."

"Careful", Wulf murmured from his place on the floor. "He already betrayed his hirelings."

Ralof stood before the Dunmer. "The Claw for your life", he bargained.

It tool Arvel a long time to think the proposal through, but finally he gave in. "It's in my bag", he whined in a petulant voice.

Ralof took the Claw and cut the bandit free, who quickly scrambled up and away, leaving Wulf and Ralof alone once more.

Wulf struggled to get back on his feet. When Ralof reached out, he gladly took the offered hand, but his voice was hard. "You should have killed him."

"You're the one who let all the others get away", Ralof reminded his friend.

Wulf nodded. "Yes", he responded. "But this one's trouble." He looked around. "Never mind, now. Let's find a safe place away from here, I need to rest."

They left the spider's nest behind them and soon the webs became less, dwindling away to the tiny cobwebs one would expect to find in an old, abandoned place. Wulf was half-asleep on his feet, but he still noticed that Ralof was limping badly. They walked on for a few more minutes and in a little while the natural tunnel ended and they entered a passageway of human make again. There were chambers to both sides of the corridor, and the two Nord chose an empty one for a resting place.

Ralof and Wulf unburdened themselves from their backpacks and Wulf flopped down on the floor, intending to have nap then and there. His eyes shot open though, when Ralof unbuckled his belt and let down his pants to take survey of the damage that lay underneath. Deep gashes and puncture wounds marred both his legs and bled freely. One leg in particular looked swollen and part of it was an angry red in colour. It was obvious by Ralof's tight, drawn mouth and brows that the man was in a great deal of pain. Hell, a cat's claws had nothing on those spiders.

For the moment, Wulf fought back his tiredness. "Sit down", he told his friend, not unkindly and Ralof obliged, wincing when lowering himself aggravated his wounds.

Wulfryk rummaged around in his pack, until he found what he was looking for: a small clay bowl he poured a small amount of oil into and a wicker that Wulf drenched, put in the bowl's pitch and lit from the torch. Next, he put out the torches. Their tiny lamp didn't give off much light, no more than a candle, but in the absolute darkness it was enough to see and, more importantly, it could last for hours without using up nearly as many supplies as the torch. He also fished out a pewter jar and handled it to Ralof. "Use this", he advised the blond warrior, before he had to yawn. Pulling a thick fur mantle from his pack, which he used as a pillow, Wulf wrapped himself up in the blanket and, within a minute, he was out cold.

Ralof watched Wulf with disbelief. How his friend could fall asleep in this place was beyond him. He shrugged and dipped his fingers into the jar's contents, spreading the salve over the worst of his cuts and the bite-mark. The relief was instant and Ralof gasped as the pain abated, leaving behind a faint tingling. The slashes stopped bleeding and within a short while they scabbed over. His calf still hurt, but it was a dull, deep ache that he could deal with and not the sharp, acute pain from before. Ralof scooped up a bit more of the salve and worked it into the reddened area around the bite. With how his wounds felt better already, he would be able to walk normally again. The warrior settled more comfortably against the back wall and with his axe lying across his knees and his gaze directed at the entry, he kept watch.

* * *

**AN:** At first I planned for chapters 5,6 and 7 to be one single chapter, but they got out of hand somehow and together they have 15k+ words, which I believe to be way too long for a chapter.


	8. Chapter 7

Wulf awoke with a slight start. He felt disoriented at first, but when his eyes settled on Ralof, he remembered their adventure with the spiders. Ralof sat motionlessly and at first Wulf thought his friend had fallen asleep too, until Ralof turned his head and greeted him with a wry smile and a 'good morning'.

Wulfryk sat up and stretched. His temples still throbbed lightly, but he could handle that. Judging by how much oil had burned up, roughly three hours had passed. It was high time to move on. Unless Ralof needed to rest, that was. "Do you want to take a nap, too?"

Ralof shook his head. "I'm good."

"How are your legs?", Wulf asked.

Ralof showed him. Much of the swelling had gone down and new, pink skin covered what only hours ago had been bleeding gashes. "They're much better", he said and a hint of wonder still lay in his voice. "You have some very good ointment."

Wulf chuckled. "I know", he simply said. "It has served me well many times." He had made it too, but Ralof didn't need to know that.

As if the blond man had read his thoughts, he suddenly enquired "So, you have got to tell me: how did you learn all those things?"

"What things?" Wulf packed his mantle to buy himself time and he uncorked his water bottle and drank deeply.

They ate in silence and it seemed Ralof was lost in thought, but soon he pried further. "Fighting. Riding. Reading. Pickling locks and now magic. That's not something an every guard knows."

"Have you ever guarded a caravan, Ralof?", Wulf asked. When the other man shook his head, he continued. "It is boring work, mostly. Lots of walking. And when you have to be somewhere quick, riding. My employers were in a hurry and so they tossed me on a horse. That's how I learned to ride. It's not one of my fondest memories."

In retrospect, Wulf guessed it was funny. It would certainly make for a good story, though at the time he had clung to his horse's mane in panic and after hours in the saddle every day, the insides if his thighs had been rubbed raw and bleeding. He still bore the scars, though they had faded over time. "My balls were blue for a fortnight."

Both men shared a laugh and Wulf carried on. "I learned early on that the more I knew the better my chances were. Not just at getting a job as a hireling, I did those because I liked to travel, but in general. I could have quit my mercenary days anytime and settled in a nice, dull village to live as a scribe." He did not want to, though that was beside the point. It was having a choice that Wulfryk valued.

"I offered my clients a discount if they taught me something new. Travelling takes lots of time without anything to do but talk. Most of my employers were happy to accept my offer, if only because it saved them coin. And teaching me usually cost them nothing, except some time and that's one thing we had in abundance."

Reading was one of the first things he had learned. He had been very young then, and the kindly old merchant had probably taken him on out of pity. Or maybe because Wulf had been willing to do work for food alone. But when they were stuck together on a single cart for weeks on end, the merchant had decided they might as well do something productive. His eyesight was failing him and having somebody who could keep track of the ledgers for him was a valuable aid indeed. When a party of drunken huntsmen harassed them, the guards took care of them, and off their corpses Wulf looted what now was his most treasured possession. Even without the sentiment, the thick, leather-bound book with its pages of vellum was worth a fortune.

Wulfryk knew that the more he was familiar with, the more likely it was for him to find some common ground with another person. He had been very successful as a guard, because he was not just hired muscle; he was a travel companion as well. He worked as a guide, a translator if the need arose and he entertained his employers with stories when the journey dragged on, or around the campfire.

Wulf's repertoire of skills included swimming; in addition to the common Trader's Tongue he fluently spoke Nordic, High Cyrodilic and Ta'agra, the language of Elsweyr. He knew enough of Altmeris to get by and even snippets of Bosmeris and Orcish. A lifetime on the road and an insatiable curiosity had served him well. Reading was followed by writing and he also could play the lute a bit, though he had not used that particular skill in years, and he was probably rusty.

Wulf learned to be well-spoken when around more noble clients and when wealthy merchants had hired him, the gold coins in his purse multiplied. He spent them on teachers – and so the circle began anew.

"I learned to fight from my fellow guards and from experience." Wulf knew now that he was darned lucky to have lived thus far. When he had left home, he had barely known the hilt of a sword from its point.

"As to the magic – I was once the bodyguard of a wizard. Crazy old bugger, that one. I was damn lucky to unload him at the Mage's Guild when I did. I heard he blew it up."

Wulfryk laughed. Now those had been some good old times. The wizard had insisted on teaching him magic, despite the fact that Wulf was Nord – not a race with much magical aptitude and his own protests. Wulfryk had succeeded at his first spell when he had grown so fed up with the codger, he had set him on fire. He had been horrified, but the wizard was ecstatic with his success. But true to his race, Wulf's magical abilities were very limited. He could work a little destruction magic and a few minor healing spells, he could make a small globe of light and cast runes – actually that was something he was rather good at. Despite his harsh words, Wulf had been fond of the man and he stayed with the mage for several years and regardless of his advanced age the Altmer had worn him out, dragging his bodyguard into all sorts of trouble, usually when they explored some ancient Ayleid ruins. In the end Wulf was forced to acknowledge the fact that his life expectancy increased proportionally to the distance he put between himself and the mage. But he could not leave the doddering old fool out in the wilds and so he had brought him to the Mage's Guild. Wanted posters with his face on them probably still hung in the city.

Wulf told Ralof all that and a little more and by the time his voice faded into silence, they had finished their meal of dry rations. They packed and lit their torches once more, ready to head onwards. The corridor took them to the lowest levels of the barrow: the catacombs. The chamber was vast and on stone beds set in the walls the dead of the ancient Nord lay.

"This is no mere tomb", Ralof breathed "it's a maze."

They looked around. There were countless stone biers, stacked one upon the other and several corridors joined, forming a huge underground labyrinth.

"Where do we go?" Wulf had no idea. He guessed one direction was as good as another. Searching the entire tomb might take hours.

Before Ralof could answer, the decision was taken from out of their hands. A sudden flash of bright light blinded the two warriors and through his squinted eyes, Wulf saw Ralof stumble and something golden whip past his head, disappearing into the dim interior of the tomb. There was a shout of joy and he saw a slender figure detach itself from the shadows. With his grey skin the Dunmer had blended seamlessly with the darkness. Arvel cast one look at the stunned faces of the two Nord, and bolted.

Wulf brushed past Ralof, almost knocking the other Nord over in his haste. He took chase after the bandit, who was sprinting between the aisles, disappearing from Wulf's sight when he took a turn. Damn, but he was fast! Weighted down, as Wulfryk was by his pack, he had no chance of catching up. It didn't matter. He only had to be fast enough. The thief seemed to know where he was headed, but his greed became his downfall when his headlong rush took him to a long, straight corridor. Wulfryk wasted no time in shooting him down, his movements precise from years of practise, despite his hurry. Aiming was easy, as the Dunmer did not have a Khajiit's eyes and therefore he had cast a globe of light to light his way.

"Ha!", Wulf cried in triumph, when his arrow buried itself in Arvel's lower back, the tip protruding from the bandit's abdomen. "Soling sends his greetings, bastard!"

The bandit went down, screaming. He tried to crawl away on all fours, but he did not get far, as he broke down after a few feet. The man's anguished shrieks echoed through the barrow, the walls reflecting the sound back and increasing it in magnitude. Wulfryk pulled a knife made for fighting from its sheath on the small on his back, intending to put an end to Arvel's suffering and his existence. Breathing heavily, Ralof joined him and together they stepped forward.

But something else made its move first.

With a loud pound and the rusty creak of an old door something heavy slid to the floor. The dull thud was followed by a harsh scrape and the scuff of feet. Ralof and Wulf halted their advance and stared into the darkness. Beyond the light of their torch something was stirring. There was movement and the faint glint of metal. Whatever was coming their way, it was dragging a heavy object across the stone tiles with a jarring screech. The fine hairs on the nape of Wulf's neck rose; the sound set his teeth on edge.

When it stepped into the light, Wulf saw one of the corpses lift a double bladed war axe. His mind was still trying to catch up to the fact that one of the dead mummies had just strolled out of its coffin. Its eyes were shrunken raisins in a cadaverous face, but they emitted a cold, blue glow and it was clad in the rusty remains of a once splendid armour. Yellowish linen bandages covered parts of its body, but where they had rotted away, Wulf could see greyish skin, dry as parchment stretch tight across a skeletal frame.

The..._thing..._ shuffled unhurriedly towards where Arvel was lying. The bandit renewed his struggles, dragging himself away on his elbows, but when he could not escape, his shrieks took on a frantic note. The corpse cast him a pitiless glance, lifted its huge axe and buried the top spike in the outlaw's back. The Dunmer gave one last shudder and lay still. At once the barrow was plunged in silence. The corpse's glowing blue eyes turned towards the two Nord who still stood rooted to the ground. Then, it lunged.

All torpidness was gone from the dead body, as it attacked, swinging its weapon as if it weighted nothing. It went straight for Ralof, ignoring Wulf for the time being. The blond warrior caught the axe's edge on his shield, but he was out of reach of his own weapon and had to wrench his shield free. His adversary did not give him any time to disentangle himself, but followed up with another swing, pressing Ralof hard.

To distract it and buy his friend some time, Wulf buried his already drawn dagger in the corpses back, but it did not so much as flinch_. Shit!_ He did not bother retrieving it again, but used his sword to slash at it instead. His attacks had no visible effect on his opponent, in spite of his sword tearing the dead body apart. Whatever vile curse kept the carcass moving, it was too strong for a simple weapon to break. Maybe if he could get a proper blow in, strike its head... . But when he crept close, a swing of the axe stopped him and then Ralof jumped forward and the two combatants whirled around and Wulf could not risk accidentally hitting his friend.

Ralof was holding his own for now, but Wulf could see he had begun to limp again, his movements slowing. And the corpse came on, tireless and inexorable.

Wulfryk looked around frantically. There had to be a way to bring it down. His eyes rested on a discarded torch. He grabbed it and held it to the bandages that covered great parts of the corpse's body. Whatever had been used to preserve the desiccated body, it caught fire immediately.

That got its attention. The corpse screamed, if the dry rattle of a decomposed throat could be called such. It thrashed around wildly as Wulf and Ralof watched its jerky movements, transfixed, until the fire did its work and the body dropped to the ground, unmoving once more.

"What the hell was _that_?" Wulf's eyes were still glued to the corpse. He wondered if it would get up again.

"That was a draugr." Ralof sounded more fascinated than afraid. "I thought they were just a legend, but so were dragons."

"Why are they attacking us?" Except from the fact that we are trespassing through their grave and about to rob it. But they don't know that, do they?" Wulf was talking again. It was something he did when his frayed nerves threatened to get the best of him.

"The dead don't like it when one disturbs their peace", Ralof stated gravely.

Wulf gave his friend a look that clearly stated he thought the blond had lost his wits. "If they don't like me, why are they trying to make me one of their own!?", Wulf nearly shouted, waving his arms.

Ralof was trying hard to suppress his grin. "Wulf, calm down."

"Calm down? You are the one this thing nearly cut down!"

"Yes, and do you see me panicking about it?", Ralof spoke in a soothing voice.

"No, and that's the problem: you should be!" Wulf had enough live rivals, but when the dead rose from their graves to add him to the list of the deceased, he drew the line. "That's it", he firmly stated. "I'm going back."

Ralof was telling himself to remain reasonable and not let their talk evolve into a quarrel. "Through the spiders?", he prompted.

"I'm _not_ afraid of spiders", Wulf's voice has risen to a full shout. He pointed with his finger at the draugr "This...this isn't _right_."

"No, it's not." Ralof only knew what the stories told and that wasn't much. "So we're going back?", he asked, defeated.

Wulf was running his hands along his face and through his hair vigorously. "Fuck", he swore. "I can't go back to Whiterun without that bloody stone." If he did, he could shove being a Companion as well. Much more composed he asked "What do you know of these draugr?"

"Not much. But according to the stories they're not very bright. If we don't wake them up, we could make it." He tried to sound confident.

Wulf's next question though was enough to dishearten him. "How many draugr are there?"

"I...I don't know", Ralof conceded.

In a soft voice, Wulf spoke "Look around, Ralof. We're inside a grave. There must be hundreds of dead buried here."

Ralof swallowed. A moment ago he had been ready to charge into the barrow, but now his confidence failed him and he eyed the still forms of the mummies. Watched them for a sign of life.

Wulf must have seen the doubt in his eyes. "I won't let us throw our lives away for a stupid stone. Not even for the Jarl."

"We have come this far." It seemed a shame to give up now.

"You're with me, then?" The shock from seeing his first draugr set deep in Wulf's bones, but the fear was abating, albeit slowly. He drew his dagger from the draugr's back, sheathing it.

"Yes!" Ralof grinned. He tried to remember whether he had taken a blow to the head recently, but he couldn't help but feel _exhilarated_. He had known his friend only for a short time, but these weeks were already turning into the most exciting ones of his life. He searched Arvel's dead body and retrieved the Claw. He held no compassion for the dead bandit. Some people never learned.

"All right, let's go, but silently." Wulf took the lead, eyes on the floor. "You look out for draugr", he told Ralof "And I will do so for...other things."

"Other things?"

"Traps." Wulf didn't know how ingenious these ancient Nord had been, but in his experience ruins had at least one. The Ayleid ruins had been riddled with traps, many of them magical. Never had Wulf been more glad that his people's talents lay in other directions.

The draugr at last they could see. And hear, since they talked. Wulfryk had nearly died of a heart attack when one of the walking corpses had shouted at him. He bashed at it with his shield, managing to knock its head askew and extinguish that otherworldly blue glow that emanated from its empty eye sockets.

Wulf continued, his stride confident though his stomach churned. He had taken a stupid risk in running after Arvel. He should have known better. They had been safe in the caverns, but what awaited them here was anyone's guess. The passage continued and it led them to another grand chamber. Wulf and Ralof tiptoed through. The stone biers had become more elaborate, the coffins ornamental and decorative carvings adorned the walls. They had to be getting close to the core of the barrow. Once it must have been more than a place for the dead to rest, a temple maybe. The floors had been trodden by many feet, the stones smooth and glossy.

At an intersection of two corridors Wulf stopped and hunkered down. "Got you." He sounded pleased with himself. He righted himself and turned to Ralof. "Follow me. Step exactly where I do."

Ralof followed the instruction without question. "How did you know it was there?" Ralof would have walked right over the trap and never known it was there, until it was too late.

Wulf smiled, smugly. "See those stones?" He pointed out the ones they had avoided. "Nobody's ever set foot on them. They are dull and don't reflect the light as the rest does."

Ralof whistled silently. That was nifty. A part of him was curious as to what would happen if he were to, say, toss something at the trap. With some difficulty he tore himself away and followed Wulf. Their journey continued for a little while and without further incident until they came to a pair of huge, black doors. They were carved intricately and there was a certain grandeur that set them apart from anything else they had seen so far.

"This must be it", Ralof breathed. He reached out to try the latch, but Wulf slapped his hand away. Ralof watched as his friend knelt to inspect the lock, running his fingers lightly around the keyhole.

"Give me some more light, please", Wulfryk requested and Ralof moved his torch closer as Wulf drew his roll of lock picking tools from a breast pocket. He had not told Ralof where he had learned that particular talent, but maybe it was for the better. Ralof wasn't sure he wanted to know. Wulf selected what looked like a miniature of a palette knife that masons used. He was more surprised when his friend handed it to him.

"Hold it here." Wulfryk positioned Ralof's hand and the tool. "And don't move!", he added sternly. He seemed lost in thought as he pulled other tools out and began to poke around in the lock. After a while he grunted "The lock is wired." Wulf checked the position of the tool Ralof was holding. "Put some pressure on it", he told Ralof.

"Why?" The Nord felt anxious. "What's going to happen?"

"Nothing, if you don't move", Wulf murmured, his entire focus on the keyhole. He had three thin metal rods sticking out of it and now he added a fourth, one that resembled a small dagger. He used it to turn the lock around.

There was a faint clicking sound and a barely audible ring as something struck the metal plate Ralof was holding. "What was that?", he asked.

"That was the poisoned needle that would have killed you, had you pressed the handle down", Wulf answered him evenly, as he collected his tools once more.

"How did you know the door was trapped?" Ralof was repeating himself, he knew.

"The carvings of people dying in agony as they writhe on the floor that are all over it were an indication." A wry smile pulled at Wulf's mouth in addition to his dry tone.

"Oh." Ralof had missed those, he had been so eager to get to the Hall of Secrets. "_Talos' balls!_" Giant spiders, draugr, traps and now poisoned needles. Ralof wasn't cut for this sort of thing. Give him Imperials, he'd fight those anytime! But this...hell, this was the last time he was doing a friend a favour, he thought darkly.

They walked into the corridor that lay behind the black doors and encountered...another door. Ralof groaned. Wulf laughed out, at the other man's evident misery. He stroked the door with the back of hand.

"Another trap?", Ralof asked wearily.

"Not necessarily." Wulf frowned. "There's magic, though." He had felt it, even without the touch, but only because his erstwhile Altmer employer had taught him how to recognize enchanted objects.

Ralof walked up to stand beside Wulf. The door did not look out of the ordinary. It was a bit odd, yes, with three rings set in stone and where a handle should have been there were only three close-set hollows.

"About that magic..." Ralof really did not want to ask a third time.

The corner of Wulf's mouth twitched. "Give me your hand." He ran Ralof's hand lightly over where he could feel the magic seep out, and at first nothing happened, but then Ralof felt the slightest tingling. It was similar to when one rubbed hair against a woollen blanket.

"Feel that?" Ralof nodded. "That's...power", Wulf said. Magical objects usually _leaked_ it.

"What did the text mean when it said that when you have the Claw the solution is in your hands?", Ralof asked suddenly.

Wulf shrugged. "The Claw opens the door, right?" He motioned for Ralof to proceed.

The warrior unpacked the golden artefact and admired its fine craftsmanship for a moment. The backside was etched with three depictions.

Ralof suddenly laughed out loud. "A test for the worthy, my ass", he chuckled. The door was a puzzle. Simple as that. His father had carved more complicated ones when Ralof had been little. He quickly aligned the stone rings and pressed the Claw into the hollow. The door opened with a grating sound.

_Finally._ Farengar had told Wulf that the dragonstone would lie in the barrow's sanctum, its main chamber. "At least we left the draugr behind. There's no way they got past that door", Wulfryk said. He could not wait to see sunshine once again, to breathe in the fresh, fragrant breeze, and not the damp air of underground, gone stale centuries ago.

The cave they entered was vast and several brooks trickled through it. There was also a strong draft, signalling that there was an opening ahead and light filtered through a narrow ravine. Bats clung to the dark ceiling and some of the animals took flight when the men approached. They crossed a delicate looking bridge that spanned one of the streams and walked up a flight of stairs which were hewn into the rock. Up and ahead a dais with a black alter stood and behind it – a carved wall.

Ralof stopped to inspect the altar, but Wulf walked on, drawn to the wall. A great statue of a dragon was mounted atop it and next to it, on a short pillar, the stone slab that Farengar had described, lay. Wulkryk noted all this in passing. His entire attention was focused on the wall and his legs carried him up the stairs and towards it seemingly on their own. He thought he could hear a faint chant, but that was probably just the murmur of the water. The wall was made from solid, black granite and there were runes engraved in it. Wulf stared at them, transfixed. One word in particular stood out, because it glowed faintly to his eyes.

The runes looked familiar in spite of him never having seen anything like it. Like a word in a foreign language that he had not forgotten, but could not quite remember, either. Wulfryk traced the spidery script with his fingers. He felt like he had returned to a place he had known from long ago, but that place had changed almost beyond recognition. But it was impossible. He had never been in Skyrim before, except for maybe when he had been so little, he no longer remembered it.

Wulf blinked and the spell was broken. He was staring at an empty wall, but whenever he closed his eyes, he could make out that one word. The echo of a phrase rang in his mind. He thought he could see the huge black dragon descend from the heavens again. It had sat upon a tower, opening wide a yawning maw and...

Wulfryk shook his head and turned away. Those were not memories he wanted to relive. He had almost forgotten about the dragonstone, but now he grabbed it and skipped down the steps, feeling lively now that his mission was over. He was stopped short before he reached the last step.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Ralof was kneeling before the altar, investigating a small wooden chest, unaware of the fact that Wulf had already found what they had come here for.

Except that it was no altar. It was a sarcophagus. One they had overlooked.

The lid shattered from the impact of the words of power, and Wulf watched in a mixture of horror and astonishment as the draugr clawed its way out of its tomb. Unlike the other walking corpses this one was not wearing armour, but a splendid robe of red and gold that looked magnificent, even though it was faded and full of holes.

Ralof looked up in surprise and when he saw the draugr stand and rise up into the air, he scampered backwards, reaching for his axe. The look on his face was one of shock and disbelief and he screamed involuntarily.

When the draugr raised its knobby hands, he jumped up and ran for his life.

Wulf stood right behind the draugr and he had a spectacular view of Ralof darting away just in time, before the draugr's magic hit the place he had been standing just a moment before. Now, there was a smoking crater. The mage's corpse paid Wulf no heed, as it floated a foot above the ground with its back to the warrior, firing bolt after bolt at Ralof. The blond sprinted down the stairs, and away, staying ahead of the destructive spells by a hair's breadth.

Wulfryk's sword was in its sheath and so he did the first thing that came to his mind and hit the draugr over the head with the dragonstone, caving in its head and putting it right back from whence it came and where, according to Wulf, all dead belonged: namely inside a coffin and not out, wandering about.

The magic attacks stopped instantly and Ralof sprinted up the stairs, soaked in sweat and shaking. Wulf tossed him the dragonstone that was now splattered with remains of the draugr's skull, grabbed hold of the wooden chest that stood next to the coffin and both hightailed it out of the barrow, as fast their legs would carry them, taking the steps at the back three at a time.

Thinking back to that day, Wulf never remembered much of their panicked flight, except that they suddenly burst out from the barrow through a narrow chasm in the rock. The bad weather had cleared and it was warm and sunny once more and the heat and light struck them, but they ran on, until their packs became too heavy to run with and the pain in their sides forced them to stop. Wulf's breath sounded like a bellows as he gulped the fresh air. He unclasped his pack, tossed it to the ground and sank down on unsteady legs.

In the sunshine everything that had occurred seemed surreal, but looking back the barrow looked as bleak and foreboding as ever. And inside, the spiders still lurked, waiting for unwary prey and the dead patrolled old halls, their eyes aglow. Wulf shuddered. He listened to the birds sing, to the whisper of the wind and dug his fingers into the rich soil, cherishing the smell of grass and flowers and the buzz of insects.

"That was not my proudest moment", Ralof spoke up sheepishly after a moment.

"Should anybody ask, let's just agree to tell them the truth", Wulf panted.

"And what would that be?"

Wulf considered it for a moment and then stated "I bravely defeated the draugr in single-handed combat while _you_ screamed like a little girl."

"Hey!" Ralof punched his friend's arm. He might have screamed, but he had done his part in keeping them alive, if only by distracting the draugr enough for Wulf to brain it. His gaze swept past Wulf's form, to the chest that was lying on the ground. "What did you take?"

Wulfryk kicked the chest open without rising from his resting spot and Ralof beheld the sparkle of gold and jewels. He breathed in sharply at seeing such wealth, but soon his brows furrowed. "Robbing a grave, that's not right."

"Feel welcome to return it, if you want. I'll be waiting right here", Wulf countered.

"It's just ... it makes me feel...like a robber", Ralof spluttered. He did not like that feeling one bit.

Wulf had no such qualms. He crossed his arms behind his head and lay down. "Just think of it as compensation...for our troubles", he suggested.

"That doesn't make it right."

"Oh for heaven's sake", Wulf sighed. "Cease your whining, Princess."

He sat up and rummaged about the chest, before he found what he was looking for, a jewelled diadem that he slapped on Ralof's head. "Look, there's even something in here for you", he sniggered.

Ralof still disliked the idea of keeping the treasure, but he liked the idea of going back even less. Reaching up he removed the headdress, snorted and placed it on Wulf's head. "It suits you better."

"Damn right, it does."

xxxx

They found their horses in the place they had left them. The animals were not happy with being left to fend for their own for so long and they let them graze and drink first.

Wulfryk was still wearing the jewelled diadem when they rode into the village of Riverwood. He balanced the chest on the saddle in front of himself. If Ralof didn't like the riches, he could carry the dusty piece of rock.

Wulf split the treasure with Ralof and, on impulse, he decided to invite his friend's family for a drink. He took a few coins and together they headed to the Sleeping Giant Inn, the only inn in Riverwood. Wulfryk amused Gerdur and Hod by telling them about the barrow, downplaying the danger quite a bit after Ralof cast him a pleading glance.

They talked and the mead flowed freely and time passed until Gerdur and Hod excused themselves and left, leaving Wulf who found himself listening and nodding as Ralof explained him the finer points of Ulfric's rebellion with the help of three empty mugs. Or maybe it was two. Wulf wasn't sure, he was far too busy watching Ralof's four hands moving them around.

"So, Tullius 's the Blackbriar?", Wulf slurred, intrigued.

Ralof leaned back and surveyed the crockery. "Be fucked if I know." He shrugged, smiled crookedly, waved his hand and bellowed "Delphine, pass the ale!"

The woman in question scurried over with a full tray. The trouble with drinking Nord was that it took copious amounts of drink to knock them out. When the blond's hand slapped her behind, Delphine had to extort every ounce of self-control not to knock out his teeth. Because she couldn't do that to patrons, no matter how annoying and those two had coin aplenty and were willing to spend it. They were good for business and she couldn't wait to see them gone.

Ralof looked after her with a wistful expression. "Been awhile since I got laid", he said mournfully, leaning his chin on his crossed arms. Wulf patted his shoulder in consolation. "And now I'm too drunk to get a lass", he whined and turned a beseeching glare on Wulfryk "Why did 'ya let me get wasted?"

"Cause I want you all to myself." Wulf giggled. He could not let Ralof know he lusted after him.

Ralof tried and failed to focus his gaze on Wulf. "Really?", he asked. After a while of contemplation he added "I never fucked a man." He sounded excited at the prospect.

Wulfryk burst out laughing at his enthusiasm. If Ralof wanted to experiment, he was more than willing to participate. He could not help but notice the solid weight of the blond's arm around his shoulders. His warm, musky smell. There was one quiet moment in which their eyes met and Ralof's hair was mussed, his face was flushed from the drink and the heat of the fire and Wulf threw all consequences to the wind and leaned in to brush his lips against Ralof's. He expected a rebuke, but he was pleasantly surprised when the warrior's hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and then Ralof was kissing him back hungrily.

Wulfryk groaned when Ralof's tongue invaded his mouth, pushing past the barrier of his lips. Their kiss was sloppy, wet and uncoordinated, but it felt glorious and Wulf rested his hands on Ralof's knees, before trailing them up the other man's thighs and finally rubbing the growing bulge between them.

Ralof suddenly lurched up and, dragging Wulf by his collar, he backed the other man into the next available room.

Delphine saw the two horny Nord stumble into a room. "No, wait, that room is already...", she shouted. "Bollocks", Delphine cursed, when they paid her no heed and the door closed in her face, followed by the sound of a bolt sliding home. She gave it a vicious kick. That's one patron she wouldn't see again.

Wulf chuckled breathlessly as Ralof pressed up against him. They fell against the door at all the wrong angles, but it was fine. It was good, because Ralof's calloused hands trailed under Wulf's shirt, his mouth lapping kisses at his neck. Wulfryk's own hands worked at the lacings of Ralof's pants. He was absolutely in no mood for foreplay tonight.

But he was too drunk to unravel the knots right and when Ralof sucked at his throat, Wulf's head fell back and his eyes closed. "Get those pants off", he growled at last.

Ralof complied and Wulf used the break to pull his own shirt over his head. He grabbed the hem of Ralof's tunic next and admired the broad, flat torso he exposed. Wulfryk ran his fingers through the golden curls that covered the center of Ralof's chest and tugged lightly. The blond's only answer was a loud moan, a liquid sound that made Wulf's blood pool in his groin. He pounced on the other warrior, tackling him to the bed and claiming his mouth once more in a fierce kiss.

Ralof explored the exposed skin and Wulf regretted still having his pants on, because they restrained his growing erection. He pulled at the offending garment, able to shuck it off at last after some struggle, cussing vehemently the entire time. And then nothing mattered anymore, because Wulf straddled Ralof's hips and both gasped from the contact of their heated flesh.

Ralof once again had a firm grip on Wulf's hair and he yanked on the dark tresses, pulling Wulf's mouth to where he wanted it: his neck and chest and Wulfryk hummed in pleasure as he sucked on a dusky nipple, making it perk up and Ralof groan wantonly. The blond worked a hand between their bodies and began to stroke their cocks, lightly at first, but when Wulf pinched his other nipple, Ralof tightened his grip in response. It was strange and familiar all at once and Ralof honestly couldn't care anymore that it was a man he was sharing the sheets with.

He grabbed Wulf's ass with his other hand and began to knead it and then Wulf pitched sideways, taking Ralof with him and suddenly they were flush against each other, tangling their legs and rubbing vigorously. The heat between them intensified tenfold when their bodies became slick with sweat and the first drops of the pleasure to come. Ralof fondled Wulfryk's manhood and was rewarded with a thrust of the other man's hips. He returned the favour and before long both were panting happily as their flesh slapped together. It was rutting, plain simple and animalistic.

Their movements picked up a frantic edge as they neared completion and Wulf buried his face in Ralof's neck as his entire body tensed and the bliss of orgasm washed through him. Ralof followed soon after when Wulfryk added his second hand to expertly work him, his seed spilling hotly between their flushed bodies.

For a while they lay stroking lightly, until the last shudders of their climax passed and their cocks became too sensitive to touch. Wulf's suddenly heavy eyelids drifted closed of their own accord, his rapid breaths slowing down, becoming deep as sleep claimed him.

"Want me to cuddle you?" Sex always made Ralof feel mellow. Wulf let out a huff in response, although he seemed happy to let Ralof hold him. They drifted off dirty, sweaty and sated.

xxxx

Ralof awoke to the the pressing of his bladder. He was not really alert when he blearily looked at the person he shared a bed with. His first thought was 'Sweet Talos, she's got a beard!' Before his mind caught up to his mouth, he blurted out "Have you always been that ugly?"

"What?", a deep, unquestionably male voice croaked.

Ralof laid back and exhaled in relief. It was just Wulfryk. At least he had good taste in men. The blond Nord got up and walked out to relieve himself behind the inn, but it was still too damn early to be up and he was feeling slightly hung-over. So he made his way back to the bed on which Wulf was sprawled out, kicked off his boots and crawled under covers.

Wulf grumbled something incoherently when Ralof's weight made the mattress dip and jump and even more so when Ralof poked him in the side to have him move and make room for the other Nord, but when Ralof wrapped his arms around his chest, he settled against the other man's warm body with a little sigh of contentment.

They drowsed off their inebriation and when Wulf finally awoke it was past noon. He was relieved to see that Ralof was amused by their nightly escapade rather than offended or angry. "I don't even fancy men", the blond said, with laughter in his voice.

"If you've never been with one, how do you know that you don't fancy them?", Wulf wanted to know.

"I thought the fact I never wanted to be with one was an indication."

Wulf scratched his head and stretched. "Huh. Fair enough." He smiled when the thought struck him that they had probably provided Riverwood with enough gossip material to last the villagers through the next century.

He was glad they did not part on awkward terms. Duty separated them, as Wulf had to bring the dragonstone to Jarl Balgruuf and Ralof had a war to fight at Ulfric's side. They embraced in goodbye on the road, their horses standing ready at their sides.

Wulfryk patted Ralof on the back. "Take care, Princess", he told his friend, who huffed in mock annoyance at the nickname.

"You too, Wulf. You too."

They let go of each other and Ralof turned to his mare. Wulf held the stirrup for him as he mounted up. Ralof gathered his reins and clucked his tongue at his horse, kicking it into motion. He covered a few yards and turned.

"Should you visit Windhelm, I'll be there", Ralof called with one final wave.

Overall, there was plenty to keep Wulf busy. But he was going to miss Ralof, he thought as he watched the blond Nord ride away, until his form dwindled in the distance, becoming a tiny speck against the horizon.

Wulfryk mounted up himself. Their paths would cross once more, he was sure of that though he could not say how.

For now, Whiterun called.

* * *

**AN:** So all the NPCs in Skyrim are like: 'Oh look, a dragon. Let's go kill it!' 'A bear! I might just be a farmer, but I'll still stab it with a butter knife.' 'You want to visit a grave or the Hall of Dead? Mind the draugr.'

It's like all those things are an everyday occurrence. We've seen it all. Yawn.

Seriously, if I went to visit my granny's grave and she'd climb out of it and try to hack me apart with a claymore, yeah, I'd probably freak out, to put it mildly.


	9. Chapter 8

So, I'm back! Thank you for reading and thank you for your patience. As promised, here's another chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

With the Jarl's reward in his pocket and half of the plunder he and Ralof had found in Bleak Falls Barrow, Wulf was a wealthy man. He decided to spend some of the coin on new clothes, as most of his were worn threadbare. He also needed to replenish his stock of arrows. Wulfryk made his way to the Warmaiden, the smithy and shop that a guard had recommended him.

He did not find what he came for, but instead a blade on display caught his eye. Wulfryk had the sword he had stolen from the Imperial armoury in Helgen, but the weapon he admired was a greatknife of a superb workmanship and so much closer to what he was used to fight with. As a guard Wulf had very seldom used a real, double edged sword. At first because they were far too expensive and later because he was better at wielding something familiar. Like this treasure that lay before him.

He really did not need it though and if he was going to spend an outrageous amount of gold on a weapon, then maybe Eorlund Whitemane would be willing to forge him a blade from that fabled skyforge steel? Even Adrianne herself admitted that he was the best smith there was and additionally the man was hard-pressed for money. It was worth a try.

Wulf next paid the Drunken Huntsman a visit and the Bosmer proprietor, Elrindir, was proud to show him a full stock of archery equipment. He had more arrows than Wulf could count and together they selected the ones best fitted to his Imperial bow.

He was on his way to the tailor, when the thought struck Wulfryk that it had been a long time since he had written in his journal and a lot had happened in the meantime. He would need ink and a quill and so he stopped in his tracks, turned and walked back to the main market place from where he had just come.

A bored soldier stood guard next to a building from which a sign with a pestle and mortar and the inscription 'Arcadia's Cauldron' hung. The guard leaned against one of the wooden beams and he had taken off his helmet in the heat of the day, showing a youthful face with russet hair and beard. Wulf approached him with a smile and asked "Would you know where I can buy writing utensils?"

The man pointed at another building within the market area. "At Belethor's shop, maybe. He's got all sorts of things, though I gotta warn you; he's a sleazy little man. Don't let him cheat you out of your coin!"

"Right." That didn't sound too promising, though so far it was Wulf's only option. "Thanks for the warning", he told the guard and entered Belethor's shop.

The merchant within proved the soldier's words to be true within seconds. When he spotted his customer he cried out "What can I do for you? I buy and sell everything! I'd even buy one of your relatives, if you're looking to sell!"

Seeing Wulf's sceptical look he laughed out, adding "That's a little joke."

"Trust me, you'd be paying double. Once to get them and a second time for me to take them off your hands again", Wulf muttered. "Have you got ink and quills?"

"Of course", Belethor assured him and ducked under the counter, from where he pulled out a wooden crate and began to rummage around in it.

Wulf fidgeted as he waited, seconds dragging by, until he finally asked "So, what brings a Breton to Skyrim?"

"Isn't it obvious?", the merchant groused from across the counter. "Why, the wonderful weather and hospitable people, of course!"

Wulf opened his mouth to answer that yes, his countrymen certainly had an odd way of showing their welcome, but he never got a word out.

"Not to mention my great fondness for dragons and petty political power struggles." Belethor appeared from under the counter and slapped the requested goods on the table. "Ah, but without a doubt, the most compelling feature of this frozen wasteland is the volley of inane questions levelled at me on a regular basis."

Wulf stared at the man in wide-eyed shock, as the other continued with his tirade. He was not willing to admit it, but he might just have found his match in snarky sarcasm. He collected his goods, paid and left quickly, before Belethor decided to sell _him_ off.

Wulfryk bought a bowl of late snowberries from the Imperial woman, Carlotta, who tended to a stall with fruits and vegetables together with her daughter, before he left the marketplace.

Belethor's words played through his mind on his way to the tailor. So word of the dragon arrack on Helgen had gotten around. Oh, well. The dragons were the Jarl's problem, not his.

The seamstress took his measures and Wulf selected the materials he liked. He chose durable and functional fabrics over the nice ones. He had no use for finery, but even so he left with his pouch a great deal lighter. It was worth it though, if he ended up with some garments that did not have holes or were patched in a dozen places. Whistling, Wulf skipped up the steps that led towards Jorrvaskr.

Eorlund was reluctant to take his request at first, as weapons made in the Skyforge were for full Companions only and Wulf still had to prove himself, but after an hour of debate Wulfryk managed to change the old man's mind through persistence, cajolement and a clinking purse. He also pointed out that he was more likely to be successful as a Companion if he had a proper blade and not a piece of iron junk of Imperial make, but that he knew there was no work better than Eorlund's. He also dropped a hint that he would hate to support the Empire-loving Battle-Borns were he to commission them.

If the smith had one weakness, it was that like any true master of his trade he took great pride in his work. Wulf exploited that trait mercilessly

Happy, Wulf returned to the courtyard and sat on the low wall on the far side of the practice ring, letting his legs dangle over the edge. He ate the snowberries he had purchased earlier. They were sweet and a little tart and he spit the small pits into the river that flowed below, wholeheartedly enjoying a beautiful day full of laziness.

A week later Wulf collected his new greatknife from Eorlund and though it was not of the same design he had admired in the Warmaiden, if possible, it was even better.

"What do I owe you?", he asked the smith, feeling slightly giddy and eager to take up his new weapon. Wulf had taken some of the treasure from Bleak Falls Barrow in case the gold he had was not enough. He already flinched inwardly at the price of such a fine piece of craftsmanship.

To his utter astonishment though, Eorlund waved him off. His work was his pride and not for sale like a Suranese harlot. Although it obviously pained the smith, he claimed he had always been forging armour and weapons for the Companions for free. "Take it. It is a gift."

Well, that just didn't feel right, taking advantage of the old man like that. One of Wulf's hands disappeared in his pack and he closed his fingers around the object he was looking for. It was the very same diadem he had worn in Riverwood; silver with gemstones the size of small eggs set in a delicate frame. It had to be worth a fortune, but Wulf had never been one to hold onto money. "Your wife sells, trinkets, right?", Wulfryk asked. He had seen Fralia in the market.

The smith's brows furrowed; he was not one for idle talk and obviously wondered where this was going. "Yes."

Wulf dug out the garish piece of jewellery and thrust it into the hands of the surprised smith, before he had time to protest. "A gift for a gift, then."

Eorlund did not answer; his eyes were glued to the ornament that, if sold to the right person, would keep his family fed for months.

Wulfryk picked up his new blade and swung it through the air, marvelling at the low buzz it emitted, the balance and the weapon's slight, graceful curves. He would have to show it off to the other Companions, knowing full well he grinned like a kid at Mid-Year celebrations.

xxxx

Vilkas had just finished an assignment of tracking down the former worker of a wealthy merchant, who had gone rogue, conspired with some bandits and robbed his past employer's caravans. The assignment had involved a lot of riding and asking questions; his mark was as slippery as an eel. But Vilkas was a patient hunter. Like his namesake he had tracked down and overcome his prey. Now, after the heat of the day and the dust of the road he wanted nothing more than a bath to relax in, a cool mug of mead to wet his throat and to catch up with his shield-siblings. Maybe in the reverse order. He needed a drink more than he needed to smell nice.

Vilkas dismounted at the stables and made to leave his borrowed horse with the stable master. The Companions had an agreement with Lillith, the stable's owner, that allowed them to make use of the animals for a fee. They were honourable and none of his shield-siblings would think of stealing one of the horses and Skulvar always kept at least two if the need arose for them to travel quickly. It was a useful arrangement, especially as most Companions had no reason to own horses.

It was evening and the animals were already stabled and Skulvar was nowhere in sight, although Vilkas picked up the man's voice from somewhere behind the main building. He walked past the boxes, ready to hand over the reins, when out of one of the boxes a black head shot out and the horse bit his own poor mount fully in the hind quarter. Vilkas' mare squealed in a mix of surprise and pain and jumped to the side, nearly knocking over her rider.

Vilkas saw the stable master appear and swat a hand at the offending horse, forcing it to retract its head. "Bloody nuisance, that beast", the man muttered. "Must've gotten his bad manners from his master."

"Who'd that be?", Vilkas asked. It sometimes paid off, listening to gossip and keeping track of the trouble makers in the city. After all, they were potential work for the Companions.

"Dunno", Skulvar shrugged. "Some warrior that rode in a week ago. Full of himself, that one. But he paid well."

"Hmm." Thankfully, the man was none of Vilkas' business. He gifted his horse a carrot in farewell. The Divines knew he was no horseman and the beast had shown infinite patience with its rider.

The guards at the gates let Vilkas pass through a small side door without question. The city was closed for the night, but nobody in his right mind would stop a Companion. They were too well known and respected for that. The Nord slowly walked through the empty streets, smelling wood in the smoke that arose from many chimneys. It was a foggy night and at last he saw the shape of Jorrvaskr through the dense mist. At the thought of its warm fires, cosy interior and his fellow Companions all tiredness left Vilkas' body and he jogged up the steps. His spirits soared as he threw open the doors of the mead hall; light and laughter spilling out and washing over him. The first thing the warrior saw was a familiar face with dark hair, blue eyes and war paint. The man looked up when he saw him enter and smiled.

Vilkas groaned inwardly.

Wulfryk had been right in the middle of swinging his blade in a wide arc, admiring its grace and speed and showing off its perfect balance to the other Companions at the same time. He had never owned a blade this fine and Wulf knew he would never again, should he lose this one. Some of his shield-siblings had assembled in a loose half-circle to indulge him.

Farkas' face bore a patient and somewhat amused smile, as did Aela's. They both had witnessed plenty of newbloods get excited when they first wielded a weapon of Eorlund's make. The feeling was like no other and Wulf's delight was infectious.

'He's going to need a proper blade', Farkas thought 'if he's going to be one of us.' He was only surprised at the man's choice of weapon. Given the chance most people would have chosen something more...remarkable.

The simple, unadorned design somehow did not fit Farkas' impression of Wulf. It spoke of a sober practicality that he had not thought his shield-brother possessed. Farkas nodded his approval. The sword had been made for the sole purpose of killing and not decoration, like the toys some noblemen adorned themselves with. Slender, strong and deadly. Farkas' eyes wandered to the man who wielded it. He would have to get to know Wulfryk better.

Vilkas had been overjoyed to see the man in question gone. He had left on some dangerous mission for the Jarl and chances were high he wouldn't make it back. 'And good riddance', Vilkas had thought.

For the second time he now saw the tip of the man's sword pointed at him. He suppressed a growl of annoyance and frustration. He had wanted to spend a pleasant evening and currently his hopes at having such were dashed. The Companion steeled himself and entered Jorrvaskr. This was his home. He belonged here, not that jumped-up warrior from nowhere.

The others noted his presence too, it was hard to overlook Vilkas' tall frame. Before he made two steps further, he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. Vilkas allowed himself a small amused chuckle. Farkas had always been the more affectionate of them, but he still dutifully patted his back. "I'm happy to see you too, brother", he said in a low voice.

Farkas stepped back, his hands still on Vilkas' shoulders and mustered his brother with a critical eye. Assuring himself he was not hurt, no doubt. Farkas confirmed that when he gave a satisfied nod, grinned and said "And in one piece."

Vilkas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That was something Aela did. He was perfectly capable to look out for himself, but his big dork of a brother would never believe it. It was an issue between them that would never be laid to rest. Vilkas knew he was exactly the same when their roles were reversed. He loved his brother, after all. All eyes were on them and Vilkas suddenly felt somewhat ridiculous for his open display of warmth. They had been here for over twenty years and they were brothers, what was there to gawk at, dammit?!

It irked him how they looked at him, like they knew something he did not. He surveyed the room and waved his greeting to Aela and Skjor who had come up from downstairs and walked up to Vilkas. The older Companion nodded and stated "I trust the hunt was a success." It was no question, Vilkas wouldn't be here, if it were not so. Skjor grinned at him and continued "I'll log it in right away."

The gathering was starting to break up and the Companions went about their business again, but there was one who stood leaning on a sword, head slightly cocked to the side and a small smile playing around his mouth.

"Got a new toy, whelp?", Vilkas greeted the newblood.

Instead of feeling offended Wulf gifted the Companion with his customary grin "Aye. Careful!", he said and so silently, only Vilkas' ears were able to pick up the following words, he added "It's probably worth more than you are."

Vilkas' eyes narrowed at having his own words thrown back at him. "That's Eorlund's work", he exclaimed in surprise. He would recognise the smith's work anywhere, even if it did not bear the smith's insignia. But the whelp was not yet a full Companion. He felt the anger rise "I should have you bring it back."

"Yes, and while you're at it, collect my payment from Eorlund. I'm sure he'll thank you." With a hammer to the head no doubt, but Wulf left that fact unspoken.

Vilkas promptly decided that he'd had enough of being social for the day. That hot bath he had thought about earlier sounded lovely right now. Without further acknowledging the whelp's presence the Companion grabbed a bottle of mead from a table and went downstairs, to his quarters where he was greeted by blessed silence.

Farkas watched his twin depart with some bafflement. Through far from open-hearted, Vilkas normally did not harbour such resentment towards anybody but their enemies. Especially not his shield-siblings. Farkas excused himself and followed his brother.

xxxx

On the morning of the next day Farkas found Wulfryk sitting on the porch, his feet up on another chair and a large book spread across his knees. He balanced a pot of ink precariously on his thigh as he scribbled away in the pages, brows furrowed. It was a pose the big warrior had seen many times. In fact, it was so reminiscent of his brother, Farkas had to blink twice to make sure that it really wasn't his twin sitting there.

If the two men but talked to each other, he believed they would get along well. After all they were shield-siblings now and Farkas would like nothing more than to drag them into a room by their hair and knock their heads together. Afterwards he would tell them they would only be allowed out, if they made up. It might work. Or, Jorrvaskr would be left in ruins. Much as he desired peace, Farkas was not willing to risk his home.

Anyway, he couldn't force his brother to like somebody against his will. Their talk yesterday had not been very revealing, either. The only thing Farkas had been able to get out of his twin was that Vilkas did not like their newblood because of a gut feeling. Vilkas had talked around it, of course, but that was what it boiled down to for Farkas. He had not pushed the matter, knowing his brother was tired and being entire unreasonable. Wulfryk seemed to get under Vilkas' skin like nothing else.

Farkas looked at the man. He thought Wulf was a nice guy, really. He was always in good spirits, willing to have a drink with the other Companions and easy to talk to. All that initial awkwardness between them had evaporated and he and Farkas were becoming good friends.

And though Wulf was not yet a full member of the Companions, Farkas had few doubts he would be put to the test soon. He had succeeded at all the missions he had been sent on, proving himself to be a valuable asset to the Companions.

When a big shadow blocked out the light, Wulf looked up. "Hello, Bright", he grinned up at the big warrior. It was just the two of them and Kodlak in today, everybody else was out. In Jorrvaskr there was a continual coming and going as people left on assignments, came back, left again and so on.

"Hello, Wulf. Watcha doing?", Farkas asked, because he did not know what else to say. He was reading. It was quite obvious, really, but Wulfryk never commented on it whenever Farkas said something stupid. It was another thing the big warrior liked about his fellow not-yet Companion.

He did know how to read, Kodlak had made sure of that, although he had learned reluctantly. Of the two of them it was Vilkas who loved the books. There. Another thing his stubborn brother had in common with Wulf.

Wulfryk corked his ink bottle carefully, making sure none of the precious liquid would spill, before he took his feet off the second chair and mentioned for Farkas to take a seat next to him.

"Writing in my journal", he offered as an explanation. "Want to have a look?"

Farkas was not sure whether he did, Wulf's tight, neat script already made his eyes ache. But when the warrior opened the book at the beginning, he saw big, disorderly letters strewn across the pages, blurred, smudged and with ink and finger dots strew in between. Farkas grinned. He knew that sight very well.

"I was four-and ten, then", Wulf said somewhat sheepishly. "Let's look farther ahead." He leafed through the book until he came to a section with loose sheets. Farkas stared. There, depicted on the paper were the most beautiful drawings he had ever seen.

"Did you draw these?", he asked, in awe.

"Divines, no!", Wulf laughed. His own scrawly sketches looked ridiculous next to the masterpieces of art. In time he had become better at drawing too, but he would never even come close to what Gergio could do.

"A friend of mine did these. He was an artist, travelling Tamriel for commissions. When he got one, he was so rich, he could have lived off the money for the rest of his life. But somehow he always managed to blow the money and was left virtually a beggar. He painted for me when he was not able to pay me in coin. I was his bodyguard", Wulf clarified. He had also been the man's lover, but he doubted Farkas was interested in that detail. It had been much safer work than when he had been in the employ of the Altmer wizard.

"Look, here."

They spent the rest of the day leafing through Gergio's work. Some pictures were simple drawings of only a few lines, but even so they looked absolutely stunning. Buildings, cities, people, animals, plants there was nothing the artist had left out. There were rough sketches that perfectly captured the personality of whomever Gergio had decided to draw. Others were complicated drawings, portrays and breath-taking landscapes. Wulf even had quite a lot in colour and he had a story to accompany each and every one.

Farkas could only think about how much Vilkas would love to see this. His brother was constantly reading about foreign countries, exotic places far away that he wanted to visit. Wulf had been there. He would be able to tell his brother whether all those tales really were true. But Vilkas was not on speaking terms with Wulfryk. It was a pity, really.

Farkas' backside had gone numb hours ago. He did not think he had ever spent such a long time sitting still, when his hands came across something that made his breath catch. It was the painting of a scenery that could have been Skyrim. Wulf said that it wasn't, but the snow-capped mountains, the dense firs that grew on their slopes and the band of an icy river glittering in the sun's setting rays was the perfect image of Farkas' home. He stared at it for long minutes, until Wulf took his journal from Farkas' hands and for the first time in his life, the big warrior was sad to see a book gone. He watched in bewilderment as Wulfryk gripped the book and ripped out the page, handling it to him. "You like it, you keep it."

Farkas would hang the picture in his room, opposite the bed. Though each Companion had done their best to make them homely, the underground rooms seemed cold and uninviting at times, but now Farkas would be able to wake up and fall asleep to the view of lofty mountains and green woods. He could almost smell the fragrance of the trees and feel the biting cold breeze stir against his face. He could not wait to show Vilkas.

xxxx

Vilkas hated the newblood with a passion. He had been in Jorrvaskr for half a year now and the seasons had turned from spring to summer and soon they would turn again. The whelp's presence grated on the Companion's nerves, a constant reminder of the day they had sparred in the courtyard. Of how he'd been humiliated in front of the others. His loathing was only increased by the fact that the whelp already had half of the Companions wrapped around his finger. Athis, Torvar and Ria had all become members of Wulf's club of followers. They only lacked little badges to identify them as such.

Worse by far was that he had also managed to snare Aela and Farkas. His own brother, Vilkas knew, was no great thinker. His strength was in his brawns, not his brains. He could be a terrifying foe on the field of battle, but he was also open hearted to a degree that made him naive and vulnerable. Farkas made friends easily, though until now Vilkas had never had any reason to doubt his brother's judgement of human nature.

He was far more disappointed in Aela for succumbing to the whelp's charm. And all it had taken was for the newblood to compare her to some predatory cat of the south. Seriously? How gullible could one be? She should know better, but Aela had strutted around with her chest puffed out for a day afterwards.

Njada hated him too, but that was not really telling, Vilkas could not think of one person she actually liked. Vilkas' only consolation was that Skjor seemed as suspicious of the whelp as he himself was.

"Wish somebody'd wipe that smirk off his face", Skjor had growled. They had talked and the elder Companion had admitted he didn't like the newblood's smell as well. So Vilkas wasn't imagining things. There really was something off with the man. Skjor was also quite irritated by how close Aela, who also happened to be Skjor's lover, and Wulf had become.

Vilkas looked over to the corner of the room where the two of them were sitting rather closer than was appropriate, their heads together and whispering.

Whenever somebody passed by, they would stop, look up and stare at that person until he or she moved along before continuing. If that wasn't suspicious behaviour, Vilkas didn't know what was. He did not know whether he should feel relieved or worried that Aela was involved. She wouldn't let herself be talked into something stupid or dangerous...would she? Vilkas shook his head. Of course not. He trusted his shield-sister, she was one of the most level-headed persons he knew. If the whelp was planning something that might harm the Companions, he was sure she'd intervene.

Vilkas jerked violently when he heard a teasing voice next to his head. He had not seen Aela get up and walk over, he had been so lost in thought.

"What's wrong, Grumpy?"

That again! Wulfryk had called him by that blighted name and it had stuck. So now Vilkas had a nickname. A bloody nickname! Nobody had ever had the guts to call him anything the like to his face.

His eyes flitted to the room's corner, but there was no sign of the man. So his and Aela's little meeting was over.

"Nothing", he answered, irritated that Aela had caught him off-guard.

The Huntress was not named such in vain, however; she was stealthy like a cat. And completely unfazed by his gruff tone. She was older than the twins and she knew Vilkas got defensive whenever he was embarrassed. Probably because he had been caught staring. "Out with it", Aela prodded at his chest with a finger "You've been sulking in this corner for the past hour, Grumpy. Don't try to deny it."

"I'm not sulking and don't call me that!", Vilkas hissed.

"Why not?", she asked innocently. "It fits. Though maybe I should suggest we change it to 'Broody'."

"Just...don't", Vilkas sighed. Did he really need to clarify? The whelp called him that to spite him. "It's disrespectful", he said "And he does it to annoy me."

"That's not true", Aela countered. "And Wulf has names for everybody, not just you. For heaven's sake, he calls Athis 'Punchbag', and do you see the elf getting all riled up about it?", the huntress asked. She thought it was rather droll. Maybe it was a good thing Vilkas had not yet heard Wulfryk's newest moniker for Skjor. "It's just a bit of harmless fun", she added, knowing her shield-brothers would never see it as such.

"Anyway", Aela said, waving away their argument "I wanted to tell you that Kodlak wants to see you."

"How do you know?", Vilkas asked. He had not seen her talk to the old man at all.

Aela rolled her eyes, glad the big warrior could not see it. It was a habit she had never gotten rid of. "He told Wulf", she explained in a patient tone "And Wulf told me."

"About that", the Companion suddenly burst out "What are you talking about all the time?"

"Later", she told him firmly. "Kodlak is waiting."

Vilkas growled, but he knew he would get nothing more out of her right now. Aela clapped him on the shoulder and left, leaving the Companion to his thoughts. With a shake of his head Vilkas rose and went in search of the Harbinger. He found the old man in the training yard, looking over the wide plains that surrounded Whiterun.

Vilkas approached his friend and mentor, leaning against the wall as well. "You called for me, Kodlak?"

"Ah, yes." Kodlak did not continue immediately though and Vilkas waited in respectable silence, until the old warrior finally went on "I have received a missive from a noble family."

So there was another job awaiting him. Vilkas nodded his consent.

"An old, invaluable family heirloom was stolen by their youngest son-in-law. He has brought the axe to a hideout in the foothills of the Anthor Mountains and is requesting ransom. Instead, the family prefers to pay us." Kodlak turned to the young Companion. "I'm sending you to retrieve it. The only objective besides the obvious is that no harm is to come to the thief. He's the bad egg of the family, but they do not want him injured. His hirelings though...", Kodlak gave a small shrug and Vilkas grinned fiercely. They were fair game.

"You will leave after the Mid Year celebrations; I'm trying to have everybody in the house for the festival." It was Kodlak's next words that made Vilkas' heart sink and a groan escape him involuntarily.

"And take Wulfryk with you."

By the time Vilkas made it back to Jorrvaskr, he had completely forgotten Aela's promise to tell him about whatever it was she was acting so secretly about.

* * *

**AN:** I _love_ annoying Vilkas (just stating the obvious, I know ;) )

So I chose to vary the weapons a bit, makes it more interesting, though I just keep calling them all 'sword' at times to keep things simple.

For those of you who are interested:

Swords were developed from the dagger in the Bronze Age ~1700BC when it became possible to craft longer blades. Later, Iron became more popular and other swords evolved, worthy of mention are the Greek xiphos and the Roman gladius. They measured some 50-70cm and the gladii were used from 400BC-300AD. They were replaced by the longer spatha, from which the longsword evolved. Iron was replaced by properly tempered steel and crossguards were introduced about 1000AD. When armour improved, there was a need for heavier blades with more force. Bastard blades and two handed swords became more common in the 14th century ( = late Middle Ages) and served until the Renaissance. At the end of the 16th century muskets became commonplace, and they rendered heavy armour useless, which meant that when people got into close fights they wore no armour and thus light, agile blades like the spata da lato and its successor, the rapier, and were sufficient.

There is actually no such thing as a 'greatknife', I made the word up. It derives from 'Großes Messer' and is German (apparently there is no English word). Longknives and 'greatknives' were the common weapons of the peasantry, because 1) they were not allowed to carry 'real' ( = double edged) swords and 2) those were usually a symbol of status and very expensive. Longknives were about 1m long , weighted around 1kg , had a crossguard and were wielded with one hand. Greatknives were often bent like sabres, had crossguards as well and could be wielded with one or two hands and had an immense power, comparable to the oriental katana (a strong strike could part chainmail or cleave a man apart).

Actually they were late medieval/Renaissance weapons (~1400-1700AD), but I didn't bother taking that into account, mostly because it's a fantasy world and I didn't feel like it. Then again, in-game everybody is running around with 'swords' – of whatever kind they might be, so I guess it doesn't really matter =)


	10. Chapter 9

I've just edited the previous chapters of BtS, and let me say, I have a huge respect for all the Beta readers out there! It's such tedious work! Hopefully I got most of the typos and should you spot any grave mistakes, do not hesitate to point them out!

* * *

Wulfryk carefully looked left and right, assuring himself that the courtyard really was empty before he crossed it hurriedly to meet with his fellow conspirator.

It was a rainy day and unusually cold for summer. The preparations for the Mid-Year festival had been interrupted as the bleak weather had plunged the entire city of Whiterun into a state of drab lethargy. Everybody had been driven inside by the chill, where the blazing fires drove out the damp and cold. Even the training grounds of Jorrvaskr were deserted. There was no ring of steel as swords clashed and no shouts of encouragement rang out. The Companions had forgone practice in favour of warming themselves at the mead hall's many open and roaring firesides, with the help of copious amounts of alcoholic beverages, no doubt.

All except for two, that was. Wulf brushed back his hood when he reached the roofed terrace and ran his fingers through his clammy hair.

Aela was leaning against the wall with one foot back for support as she twirled around an arrow out of boredom. Still, she was glad that it had not been her out there in the rain. They had drawn straws as to who would get the job done and Wulf had lost.

"How did it go?", the huntress asked her friend who busied himself with shaking water from his cloak of heavy oiled leather.

"Good", Wulf answered. "We got what we wanted." His success was the only thing that kept up his good mood.

Aela beamed and clapped the warrior on the shoulder. She put away the arrow she had been toying with and pushed away from the wall. "How about we get us warmed up?", she suggested. "First drinks are on me", Aela added with a wink.

Wulf smiled broadly "I could use a drink."

He spread out his cloak and they both huddled under it, as they jogged through the downpour to the Bannered Mare, an inn run by Hulda.

The tavern was a popular gathering place and busy though not yet crowded and they got good places close to the fire. Wulfryk hung up his mantle to dry while Aela ordered the drinks. They made themselves comfortable, Wulf stretching out his long legs towards the warmth of the fire.

Aela and Wulf could have gotten drunk in Jorrvaskr, but the mead hall was no longer a convenient place to plot. The other Companions had all begun to notice their meetings and even Torvar was slowly growing distrustful at their behaviour. And he wouldn't normally notice 'suspicious', unless sober and unless somebody walked up with a giant plaque and hit him over the head with it. So Wulf and Aela had chosen other places, one of them being the Bannered Mare. The tavern was neat and cozy enough and the ale was equal in quality to that of the Companions.

After a short while Hulda arrived with a tray and handed them two steaming mugs of northern mead. Wulf gratefully wrapped his hands around the warm tankard and Aela gingerly sipped the hot liquid. It warmed a person from the inside, like no fire could.

"So...", Wulf began. "Want to go over the list again?"

Aela nodded "It can't hurt to make sure we haven't forgotten anything."

"All right", Wulf replied. "We have Kodlak covered", he stated.

"Farkas and Ria too", Aela added, using her fingers to count out the persons.

Wulf thought for a moment before resuming "And I have taken care of Vilkas and Torvar." He sipped his drink as well and let Aela have credit where it was due.

"Njada and Athis", the huntress listed. "That makes seven of our fellow Companions."

Wulf suddenly groaned loudly and his head sank on his crossed arms on the table. He looked pitiful as he blinked up at Aela through his wet strands of hair. She just raised an eyebrow in question. "Skjor", her friend said sounding miserable. "We've forgotten about him."

Aela's grin turned outright predatory at the thought of her lover. She had not forgotten. "Let me worry about Skjor", Aela practically purred.

Wulf raised his head in evident relief. "Are you sure?", he asked, mostly out of courtesy and because they were running out of time. Judging by the look on Aela's face though, she had things well in hand and he probably did not want to be involved in whatever it was she had in store for the man.

With Skjor being the last one, Wulf and Aela had finished all the preparations. The two conspirators couldn't help but grin at each other in mischief. Actually, they couldn't wait to see the looks on the other Companions' faces when they finally made their move, either. Wulf raised his mug in a toast and Aela knocked hers against his.

"On us", she said. "I think we deserve it."

They drank and talked and eventually they ordered another round. The crowd had grown considerably in the last hour. Just then the doors opened once more and a cold gust of wind was let in. Heads turned as the patrons looked who had joined them this time and soon the whispers began.

Wulf craned his neck to see as well and nearly choked on his drink. "Oh, come on", he moaned "what are the bloody odds?"

Aela looked up just in time to see him hunch over and slide down the bench, as to make himself a few inches smaller. There, towering above everyone else and making their way towards them, were the twins, their fellow Companions. Aela swore. They had come here to get away from their shield-siblings. 'Couldn't they have stayed in Jorrvaskr and drank themselves into Oblivion?', she thought gloomily.

It was a good thing the brothers were so tall, it made them stand out all the more. They had not yet spotted them, but it was just a matter of time. Aela's eyes made contact with Wulf's and an unspoken message passed between them. They were just two friends out for a drink. Nothing unusual about it. The hard part would be to make Vilkas believe it. If he found out what they had planned it would ruin the whole fun. Maybe Wulf could distract him enough to forget. Aela faked a look of clueless cheerfulness as she turned to the approaching Companions.

xxxx

Vilkas was glad to be out for a change. Although Jorrvaskr was his home and in fact, he had never known another one, at times it could get stifling inside the mead hall's stone walls. It was good to leave now and then, even if it was only for an evening in the Bannered Mare; and to escape the people, most of whom he thought of as family. That's usually when he went on a mission, but there were none now due to the weather and the imminent celebrations and Jorrvaskr was as full as was seldom the case. The Companions' constant closeness and the arguments that ensured as a consequence got on his nerves and every so often he needed a break. The only exception from the rule was his twin, who accompanied Vilkas on this very evening.

Farkas' voice suddenly ripped him out of his thoughts. "Look, there's Aela! And Wulf!"

Vilkas jerked and cast a glimpse in the direction his brother was looking. "I don't think...", he began, but never finished, because Farkas wasn't listening and instead the huge Nord barrelled his way through the crowd, until he reached Aela, who waved at him.

"Hello, Farkas", she said and when she saw Vilkas follow she inclined her head "Vilkas".

He narrowed his eyes at her. So they were back to using names again, were they? What had happened to 'Grumpy' and 'Bright'? Aela liked to tease and suddenly she was playing nice, probably because she did not want to irritate him. Which meant she was hiding something.

Vilkas knew he was more likely to pry something out of her if he acted as if he was unaware of her sudden change of attitude and he took a seat opposite her, smiling friendly.

"Hello, Aela", he greeted his shield-sister and bit out "Wulf", without looking in the whelp's direction.

Thankfully, Farkas had the newblood occupied, drawing him into an animated debate about the advantages of two handed weapons versus sword and shield...or something like that.

Vilkas had to admit, he had been full of trepidation at the idea of sharing a table with the whelp, weary of yet another conflict, but the evening turned out to be rather pleasant to his surprise. Wulfryk was busy talking to Farkas and he paid Vilkas and Aela little head. From what he could make out over the general clamour of the tavern, they were now discussing the celebrations and what Kodlak was planning for Mid-Year.

Vilkas only wished people would finally shut up about the damn festival. It was all everybody talked about anymore and yet there was nothing novel about it. One year was much as another, nothing ever changed.

He turned his attention back to Aela, who said "I heard about the new job Kodlak has for you." There, that was an interesting topic. The huntress resumed "Not allowed to kill the thief, eh?" She clucked her tongue and took a swallow "Pity." By now their table was lined with empty mugs and the mood was rather jovial.

Vilkas shrugged in nonchalance. "That's no loss, really. By now I believe I have killed one of everything in Skyrim", he said instead. Smart-assed troublemakers were on that list as well. Vilkas hoped the whelp would get the message. He was onto them.

Wulf abruptly stopped mid-sentence and stared at the big Nord. Farkas looked from his brother to his friend, who had obviously taken Vilkas' words as a challenge. He tilted his head to the side and asked "Even a troll?"

"Aye."

Wulf lifted his mug in a silent toast. "A mammoth?", he enquired further and Vilkas nodded.

Wulfryk seemed impressed, but nonetheless there was a nasty spark of amusement in his eyes that did not bode well and after a while he finally asked "Have you killed a dragon?"

Farkas saw Aela cast him a pleading look that clearly said 'do something!', but he could not think of anything and besides, dragons were _fascinating_. But why did Wulf mention them?

"A dragon?", Vilkas scoffed. "What nonsense is this? Dragons went extinct in the ancient times." He took a big gulp of ale and turned away, to his brother who opened his mouth to protest that no, he wanted to stay longer and talk about dragons.

Wulf beat him to it. "And they have come back to life a couple of months ago", he replied heatedly. "Helgen wasn't destroyed by a bunch of frenzied reindeer."

Vilkas' eyes glinted coldly. "So you have been to Helgen", he said in a deceptively calm voice. "What were you doing there?"

Bollocks! Of course the Companion would know about the dragon attack. The alcohol had muddled Wulf's mind enough for him to blunder right into Vilkas' trap, who was now smiling smugly, waiting for an explanation.

He didn't have to wait long.

Normally, Wulfryk was a master of codswallop and could spin a yarn out of the dullest, most ordinary tale. The dragon though was a serious matter, not a source of amusement. And most frighteningly, it was real.

Still, Wulf put on a look of innocence and asked Vilkas "Didn't you know? General Tullius had managed to capture Ulfric Stormcloak and the Imperials were about to execute him; put an end to the rebellion. They had them all lined up to the block and ready to start chopping. I happened to be close and came to watch. That's when the dragon attacked. Ulfric and his soldiers got free and fled and as for me – I didn't wait around to see Helgen burn to the ground, either." He ended his account with a shrug and another mouthful of ale.

But Vilkas was not so easily fooled. "You're lying", he said softly.

Well, there was no use denying it. Wulf nodded, rose and said "Yes, and I'll leave you now to figure out about which part."

He left the tavern shortly after, settling his tab first and Vilkas was left gaping after him. Apparently he had hit a sore spot. He should feel some satisfaction from gaining the upper hand in an argument with the whelp, so why was there this sense of unease? He shrugged it off and turned to the remaining people.

"What?", Aela cried as two identical pairs of eyes stared at her. It wasn't her fault Vilkas had provoked Wulf, nor that Wulf took up the taunting so eagerly. Only, now there was no way for her to escape Vilkas.

"You're planning something", the Companion stated.

"No", Aela lied bluntly and hid her face behind her mug.

Vilkas was preparing himself to launch another line of questions, but thankfully Farkas intervened. Whether he did so because he was oblivious to the impending argument or in order to prevent it, Aela could not say. Sometimes it was downright uncanny how the big warrior, whom all made fun of because of his supposed lack of brains, could assess a situation so quickly.

"Do you really think the dragons have come back?", Farkas asked, a note of concern in his voice, despite his evident excitement.

"The Jarl believes so", Vilkas responded. "As does his court wizard."

Aela nodded "There have been sightings", she threw in. "Not only in Helgen, but also in Riverwood and a few smaller settlements in the surrounding mountains."

"And do you know who bore the tidings from Helgen to inform our Jarl?", Vilkas enquired further. He pointed at the place that the whelp had vacated moments ago. "You really believe it's a coincidence that he had been in Helgen when a dragon appeared out of the blue and the Empire almost managed to put an end to the war? That he just happened to be there and a week later he's at our doorstep? You don't think it's strange that he's the only one who survived Helgen who apparently has no part in the civil war and no ties to Skyrim at all?"

"No, Vilkas", Aela sighed heavily. "Or are you saying that the dragon is following Wulf? Or that he summoned the beast, maybe to help Ulfric escape?" She wrinkled her brows and rolled her eyes "Come on, do you know how silly that sounds? And if he did help Ulfric escape in other ways, remember that the Companions take no part in the civil war."

Much as he disliked the whelp, Vilkas had to admit that the idea was too outlandish to be true. Well, he could not put the blame for all problems at the newblood's feet. And Aela was right. The Companions only required the loyalty of their members towards each other; former allegiances were of no interest to them and besides, there were plenty of Stormcloak sympathizers in Whiterun. If the whelp supported Ulfric's rebellion then it was a relatively harmless secret, Vilkas thought, although it could become an issue as Jarl Balgruuf was obviously on good terms with the Empire. Vilkas doubted though that anybody would dare to touch the Companions.

His brother mistook his long silence for something else "Looking forward to slaying a dragon, brother?", Farkas asked.

Vilkas frowned as his musings were interrupted. "I don't know." The thought certainly was ...intriguing. "Dragons are dangerous", he began slowly. Their lives were full of dangers, but dragons were a threat beyond anything Skyrim had faced in centuries. And there was another fact they had apparently forgotten. "The legend says only the dragonborn can kill them", Vilkas reminded them.

Suddenly Farkas grinned in his typical ice-brained manner and loudly declared "I do love a challenge!"

Both Vilkas and Aela shared a look of mutual suffering. They would have to put their beloved shield-brother in chains to prevent him from going up against one of the monstrosities. Their former quarrel was already forgotten once more.

xxxx

The Companions were assembled in the main hall, waiting for stragglers and for Kodlak to hold his annual speech. Outside, the revelry was in full swing. Everybody from the Jarl to the lowest farmer and even the beggars celebrated Mid-Year. There were stands with all kinds of foodstuff and the hawkers cried out loudly in praise of their wares. In the streets artists performed and later there would be dances and fires and a drinking bout; they were Nord, after all. The air was fragrant with the scent of pies that many of Whiterun's households had baked and which were now cooling on the window ledges. From time to time a bold child would grab a slice and make off with it, followed by outraged shouts. It was all part of this special day.

The turning of the seasons was not a reason for merriment for most and indeed in other countries the celebrations were less joyous and more subdued. Only the Nord as a nation were crazy enough to celebrate the coming of winter. It was their way of shouting out their defiance for the entire world to hear, of showing that the cold season that was dreaded by others was a part of them and that they would keep going, regardless of the elements in this harsh land, as they had done for so many centuries already.

Vilkas snapped out of his daydream when Ria entered the mead hall and waved happily. She had been charged with overseeing that Jorrvaskr would not run out of mead today and to that purpose she had visited the local brewery. The Imperial woman was greeted by a chorus of shouts and cheers and then she made her round, hugging all her fellow Companions and wishing them a merry Mid-Year, as the others had already done before. Vilkas watched her progression and when it was his turn he patted her back, as she threw her arms around him.

Farkas' hug lifted her clean off the floor and Ria shrieked "Ow, my back, you numbskull!" as he squeezed her, but she was still in one piece when his brother set her down and both had huge smiles. Vilkas only wished he could be as carefree and enjoy the occasion without reservation.

Ria hopped away again and shouted "Wulf!"

"Ria!", Wulfryk shouted right back "How is my favourite Companion?" The words might be directed at her, but Vilkas noticed that the whelp's eyes slid over to him and that he winked. Vilkas had deliberately kept away from him as he stood at the other end of the hall with his brother at his side. And then Ria was done and the room grew quiet all of a sudden and Vilkas tore his eyes away, because Kodlak had entered and strode into their midst.

The Harbinger began his speech with a short prayer to the nine Divines, as he did every year. There was no mention of the darker side of the Companions that was only known to the Circle. Vilkas listened though pretty soon he let his mind wander off and the words wash over him.

After a while, Vilkas suddenly glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly and saw Wulfryk take a few slow steps back, moving cautiously and making sure he disturbed no one, before turning and quickly disappearing down the stairs.

Of course he would make his move when everybody was distracted! Vilkas turned to follow, but he was not nearly as sneaky and a big hand closed around his upper arm, yanking him back. Farkas cast him a dark glare for attempting to slink away when Kodlak addressed them. His brother had not seen the whelp leave and in fact none of the other Companions seemed to have noticed his absence. But in the silence of the room Vilkas could not speak out and so he was forced to remain and had to keep himself from taping his foot and twitching, willing Kodlak to hurry up. His one chance at proving that the whelp had something planned and his quarry was escaping.

The speech ended and there were loud cheers and mugs were lifted in the air and Vilkas honestly couldn't recall one sentence of what had been said, but he dutifully obliged nonetheless, shouting along with the others. With the formalities behind them the Companions began to mill around. They had hired a group of wandering musicians for the night and they now struck up a merry tune. When Vilkas next looked around, he saw the whelp talk and laugh with Aela. Damn! Then Skjor approached him and the two of them went outside for a while where they did not have to shout over the music. As time passed Vilkas grew increasingly uneasy. At long last he was left on his own for a while and he could finally break away from the merry thong.

Vilkas immediately went down the stairs and straight to his room, opening the door warily. His fears were proven true at once. Somebody _had_ been in his room. Not just anybody. The whelp's smell hung in the air and Vilkas felt his hackles rise. The newblood was not welcome here and whatever he had left behind was probably a nasty surprise. The Companion slowly drew his dagger, already regretting that he was not wearing his sword and made ready to enter, when he heard loud, heavy footfalls echo down the stairs. There was only one to whom they could belong. His brother had all the stealth of a mammoth performing a stampede.

Vilkas cursed inwardly and quickly sheathed his weapon, and none too soon as his twin came into view a moment later. "There you are!", he shouted.

Farkas was grinning broadly and he was wearing a ridiculous looking scarf with pompons that looked pinkish in the orange light of the flickering candles. 'What the...?', was Vilkas' only thought before Farkas grabbed him and asked excitedly "So, what did you get?"

"What?"

Farkas rolled his eyes; he must have picked that up from Aela and patiently said "Gifts, brother."

"What are you...", Vilkas began, followed by "I didn't get any", and wondering whether his twin had lost his wits for good.

"Don't be silly, brother! Of course you got something. Everybody did!" With those words Farkas pushed past Vilkas and entered his brother's room, looking around eagerly. "Ah, there it is!", he cried suddenly.

Vilkas could either keep standing in the doorway, completely dumbfounded, or he could be flummoxed and at least know what was going on. He chose the latter and followed Farkas, who was standing at Vilkas' desk. Indeed there was a parcel on the desk that he had not been able to see from the doorway and that had most certainly not been here before.

Farkas lifted it and grunted disappointedly. "Ugh, books." He thrust the package into Vilkas' hands and urged him on "Go on, open it", and busied himself searching the room for something else.

Vilkas stared at the leather wrapped bundle like he had never seen anything like it before. Gifts? That was it? That was the sinister plan he had envisioned Wulf and Aela concoct? Maybe his parcel was lethally poisoned. It was no more than he deserved, after all.

With stiff fingers Vilkas cut the cord and pulled away the leather cover. Into view came two heavy tomes of 'Travels across Tamriel', a series he had loved to read, but could never find the other volumes to finish.

Gifts. Gods, he had been such an idiot. Right now Vilkas wanted nothing more than to sink straight through the stone floor of his room, right into Oblivion.

"See? I told you it was books!", a voice said over his shoulder, making him jump. Farkas looked at his brother's shocked face with worry "You don't like it?", he asked, sounding sad all of a sudden.

Vilkas could only shake his head. Like it? He _loved_ it. His fingers were already twitching to open the cover and leaf through the pages. To discover everything the books had in store for him, to immerse himself in the words and to embark upon a journey that he would never make in person.

"I like it", he croaked.

"Good!", Farkas laughed "Cause you won't like _this_!" With those words Farkas caught him in a headlock and began to wrap something around his neck. It was another scarf, a blue one by the looks of it, but there were pompons and Vilkas struggled like his life depended on it from having his brother wrap him up in the garish cloth.

"No!", Vilkas protested vividly "Go away!" He was not going to wear that bloody thing! Farkas continued to wrap the scarf around his neck, completely disregarding his protests and almost choking Vilkas in the process.

"You're going to have a good time, if I have to tie you up and drag you up the stairs", the big warrior told his brother happily.

Why his brother believed that he would have a good time being tied up Vilkas did not know and he did not want to know, but he complied grudgingly and adjusted the scarf so he could breathe. His twin could be such a kid at times, but putting up resistance was absolutely futile. Through the power of his brawns or his big eyes that at convenient times resembled those of a puppy, Farkas would get his way. The other man mustered Vilkas, smiled and stated "Now you'll fit in."

Together, they went upstairs again and Vilkas found out what his brother had meant when saw that most of the other Companions had similar scarves, only Athis had a fur lined hat with earflaps that looked absolutely comical but the Dunmer seemed happy with his gift, after all Dark Elves were not exactly known for their resistance to cold. Vilkas looked around. He saw that Aela's feet were stuck in thick woollen slippers that would keep her toes warm, Ria had mittens on and Njada admired a pair of knuckle dusters. The garments were for fun mostly as the all of the warriors of Jorrvaskr bragged about their real gifts.

Kodlak had a carving knife with a hilt of horn, Aela a fur-lined quiver and Torvar an enchanted tankard that refilled itself with mead, albeit slowly, but the warrior made good use of it to the amusement of all.

Even Tilma had gotten fluffy earmuffs and she shook a leg across the floor with Vignar, both of them laughing like all the cares of old age had fallen away from their shoulders, at least for the night.

Vilkas could not remember when last the celebrations had been such a merry occasion, certainly not since he and Farkas had been children. It was...nice. More than nice. And he had almost spoiled the surprise with his constant snooping and his distrust. Somehow Vilkas now felt like he had no right to join the carousing. There was no doubt in his mind as to who was responsible for it all. Though they acted oblivious as to who had come up with the gifts, there was no missing the smug look Wulf and Aela shared.

Eventually the huntress walked up to him. "Merry Mid-Year!", she sang, tugging on Vilkas' scarf.

Vilkas 'hmmpf'd.

"You should apologise, you know?"

"Vilkas sighed. "I'm sorry." He hoped his friend would forgive him, but Aela swatted him upside the head instead.

"Not to me, you dolt!"

Damn, he should have known that she wouldn't let him get away so easily.

"All right", he growled.

"Just walk up to him and say it. It's not that difficult, really. Oh, and while you're at it, don't punch Wulf in the face", she added helpfully.

"Right." Vilkas prayed that she would leave him be, but Aela had other plans.

"Now!", she said and when he wouldn't bulge she raised her voice and shouted "Wulf! Come over for a minute, Vilks has something he wants to tell you!" She gave her shield brother a smile that had too many teeth in it.

Wulfryk looked cautiously from one Companion to the other and as if in a peace offering he said "Happy Mid-Year, Vilkas."

"Merry Mid-Year, whelp"; Vilkas ground out.

Wulfryk looked hurt and left and Aela cast Vilkas a scalding glare. "Apologise!", she commanded.

He threw his hands up in the air. "I will", he cried. "Just...not now."

Vilkas was left mostly alone after that. His brother tried for him to join the revelry, but even he gave up eventually and Vilkas was left to wallow in misery, probably the only one who was still stone cold sober.

"You're an idiot", somebody unexpectedly said next to him said, giving voice to Vilkas' earlier thoughts.

"Aye", he sighed. There really was no more room for argument. He looked up in surprise when he was handed a bottle of mead.

"Drink", Wulfryk said. "That won't make you less of one, but it will make you feel better about it." He was leaning against the table at which Vilkas was sitting by himself.

"I take it you speak from experience", the Companion responded and he could have bitten off his tongue for starting another argument.

But Wulf only chuckled, taking no offence at the words and replied "You bet."

Vilkas accepted the offered bottle and drank deeply. Wulf watched him for a while without trying to hide it and asked "So, what did you think Aela and I had planned?"

What could he say? Everything he had thought about sounded so stupid now that Vilkas could only shake his head.

To strike up a conversation he enquired after an awkward pause "What were you lying about in the 'Mare?"

"Would you believe it if I told you that a week after I had crossed the border I got into an Imperial ambush and they thought I was a Stormcloak and almost chopped my head off?"

This was his chance at, maybe not peace, but a truce at last. "I'm glad they didn't", Vilkas said and he meant it.

"There you go, Grumpy." That cheeky grin had appeared again.

"Vilkas looked up. "I still don't like you", he stated, but there was no weight behind his words. Despite himself he felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. He would have blamed it on the drink, but he had not had nearly enough to affect him.

"Come on", Wulf said and after hesitating briefly he clapped his shield-brother on the shoulder. "You're not having much fun by the looks of it. We can wait for Torvar's face when he realizes that the enchantment wears off."

Vilkas laughed and rose. The man would be heartbroken. "Sounds good." He grabbed another two bottles, one of which he handed Wulf and they went to join the merriment.

In spite of everything he had a great evening and after so many years this one festival of Mid-Year did not feel meaningless and empty. It was filled with the laughter of the friends and family that were the Companions.

All of them.

* * *

**AN**: Sometimes I wonder whether it's really Vilkas who's got all the brains =) It's so easy to make fun of him, because he is such a serious character

Although he certainly was on the right track concerning Wulf and the return of dragons!

I felt like writing something light-hearted before the story's pace picks up again. I imagine the Companions as a big ragtag family, the members of which love each other, but they bicker endlessly only to make up again and start another argument. And Kodlak is the elected head of the family and Tilma is the mother hen.


	11. Chapter 10

to Wanderingidealism: I once took my housecarl through a dungeon and he was hit by one of those swinging tree trunks and he went 'Oof!', brandished his sword and cried 'That's all you've got!?' It was freaking hilarious.

to Springinkerl: I'm glad my headcanon of the Companions matches yours. Actually I could envision Vilkas and Farkas having the very backstory you wrote in 'The Letter'.

to Voltagelisa: Hello, I'm glad you like the story; I'm all excited to be on a favourites list, that's just...wow! =)

* * *

Wulf and Vilkas were to set out on the day after the Mid-Year celebration, but another bout of bad weather forced them to delay their departure.

Wulfryk looked out of the single window that was not shuttered closed, but widely open in spite of the weather, as he watched the city and the storm that raged over it. It almost seemed as if the weather had held solely for the festival, because afterwards the summer storms, which usually happened in early autumn and signified the end of the summer, had come early and they now they ravaged the plains of Whiterun Hold. A cold wind had picked up speed and become a gale and the air was leaden with energy that was discharged whenever bolts of lightning flashed, followed by thunderous booms. Rain and hail poured down from the skies and due to the tundra being a flatland, travelling was now entirely impossible.

Wulf did not mind that the assignment he and Vilkas should have set out for almost a week ago had to be postponed. He was content to sit by the window and observe the countryside, for there was nothing like watching the forces of nature, that some called the 'wrath of the gods', unleash their destructive powers upon the land, whilst oneself was in a safe place.

Besides, he was in no hurry to be alone with Vilkas. They had come to a truce after Mid-Year, however whether the peace would last was uncertain at best, as they were not exactly friends or enemies, but allies by force and rivals by choice and maybe nature.

At least the big Nord was nowhere in sight and Farkas had told Wulf in a slightly accusing voice that his brother had barricaded himself in his room and spent his days with his favourite pastime besides weapons training: reading. The other Companions all spent the time in a comatose state, induced by either boredom or copious amounts of alcoholic beverages. Wulf secretly enjoyed the break, not that he would dare to admit it to his shield-siblings. It was nice that for once absolutely nothing was going on.

"You blinked four times in the past five minutes", a deep voice suddenly spoke up. "And that's the most interesting thing that's happened in the last hour."

Wulf turned away from the window to look at Farkas, who was sitting draped across a bench, his head pillowed on his arms. He knew the warrior was itching for some action, but they were effectively penned inside as hail the size of chickens' eggs was still falling. To stop them from going stir-crazy the Companions had converted the main hall into a training ring which was tricky, because the combatants had to circle the big open fireplace. But the fights had made a terrible din and led to much of the furniture being smashed and Tilma had finally put a stop to them by threatening to leave. And without the old lady to cook and clean the Companions would not last two days. So now Tilma was sitting in a corner and knitting, her needles clicking softly from time to time while she happily hummed and everybody else was dying from the monotony.

"How can you stand it?", Farkas enquired further.

Wulf looked outside as a particularly bright flash of lightening made the silhouette of the city stand out harshly. "I like it", he said softly.

Farkas only shook his head. "You are mad", the big warrior concluded "You and my brother both."

"If you're so very bored, why don't you go talk to him?", Wulf suggested.

"Are you joking? The last time I interrupted his reading, he tossed a chair at me", the big warrior whined.

Wulf chuckled in answer. "We wouldn't want that, would we? Best leave him be, then."

"You don't have anything to worry about", Farkas grumbled. "He likes you."

"Eh, what?" Wulf wasn't sure he had hear right.

But Farkas just shrugged his shoulders and repeated "Vilkas really likes you, you know?"

What did one say to that? "I'm sure he likes you a whole lot more than he does me and if Grumpy's throwing furniture at you, I'm staying the hell away."

There was something unreadable in Farkas' eyes, but the big Nord did not comment further. Instead he complained once more "I'm bored."

Wulf couldn't let his friend suffer like that. "How about a game of Cutthroat Hearts, Bright? I can teach you how to cheat so next time you can win against Athis", the Nord offered. Farkas was terrible at card and dice games, but by now they were both sick of Tafl and so the Companion agreed readily, even if it meant losing to his friend seven times in a row. The practice paid off though and later that evening Wulfryk had the satisfaction of seeing Farkas beat Ria, Njada and Torvar handily, if only because Wulf slipped him cards when nobody was looking.

Torvar and Ria seemed happy that for once their shield-brother had won, but Wallface was glowering at Wulf darkly, who was trying and failing to hide his grin behind a mug of ale. Before accusations were flung, their round was disrupted by Kodlak and Skjor entering. They had been to the Temple and had good news: Dancia had assured them that the weather was changing once again and the storms were at an end. How the head priestess knew nobody could tell, but then again Kynareth was the goddess of the skies, the winds and the elements. A cheer rose up to the announcement and Ria invited the men to join their game. Skjor refused, but Kodlak allowed himself to be dragged in and with quite a bit of help on Wulf's side, Farkas cheated the old man out of a pouch of coins. Laughing at the stunned faces of their fellow Companions and at Kodlak who was scratching his head in confusion, the two schemers left before anybody would get suspicious.

Wulfryk went to sleep late and woke early when a clamour made him sit up and rub his eyes groggily. It took him a good while to recognise the sound for what it was: the muted clash of swords. It had been a while since he had last heard the ring of steel and Wulf knew it meant that the storm was over at last. He dressed slowly and got up, shuffling out of the dormitory and up the steps. He had not been mistaken. In the courtyard Farkas, Skjor, Aela, Torvar and Njada were going up against each other in a lively fight that resembled a miniature battle.

Dark clouds hung overhead, but the wind had died down and smell of snow was no longer on the air, even though there was a white, powdery blanket covering the countryside. It was too early for snow and it would melt soon, but summer was now definitely over and autumn had come.

Amongst the spectators watching Farkas beat his shield-siblings, this time without the need of Wulf's aid, was the man's twin. Vilkas caught Wulfryk's eye and walked over. "Have you packed?", he asked Wulf without preamble.

Wulfryk shook his head, but replied "It won't take long."

Vilkas nodded and resumed "We will wait until midday to see if the weather holds. If so, we set out immediately. The storms have cost us far too much time as it is."

"Understood", Wulf agreed. Their short conversation was awkward and courteous, as both were weary of striking up another argument. Vilkas turned at the heel and Wulf sighed heavily at the warrior's retreating back. So the laziness was over and it was time to pick up the sword once more. He would have to check his gear, although he was pretty certain that it was in a pristine condition. He went back inside to eat a hurried breakfast and to pack. Wulfryk was glad to have new winter clothes, as he had little doubt that from now on the nights would be bitter cold. He chose to leave behind his own small tent as the Companions' equipment was much better and then he was off, running about a few last-minute errands.

Wulf was just returning from Arcadia, having bought healing potions and a few ingredients that might come in handy and upon entering the mead hall he found Vilkas sitting next to the entrance, a heavy pack at the Nord's feet. "Are you ready?", the warrior asked.

"Yeah", Wulf said and went downstairs to retrieve his own backpack.

And then there was nothing more to do and he found himself taking leave from Farkas, Aela and his other friends all too soon. Theirs was the first mission and Wulf waved goodbye once more before he followed his fellow traveller through Whiterun and out, towards the stables. Skulvar readied their horses although the stable master was concerned because the animals had spent so much time locked in. Indeed, Wulf's horse burst out of its box in a wild gallop and continued to canter around him in a tight circle due to its rider keeping a tight grip on the reins and even Vilkas' favourite and usually quite placid mare was frisky and nervous. They mounted up carefully and settled for a brisk trot until after a few miles their horses were breathing heavily and had calmed somewhat down, now that they were able to work off their excess energy. They did not risk a gallop on the first day though and Wulf, who rode in the lead, watched the countryside pass by slowly.

Their destination was a, as far as Wulfryk knew, nameless fort at the very feet of the Anthor mountains. They took the main road north and the first leg of their journey would lead them through the Whitewatch Tower that stood on the very boarder to the Pale. They would continue northwards and slightly to the east and leave the road where it split, one branch leading towards Windhelm, the other to Dawnstar. On horseback the travel should not take them much longer than a week, if they managed to keep up a pace of thirty miles per day.

One week with nothing to do but to listen to the uneasy silence that stretched between. Splendid. Wulf needed this journey like he needed a mace to the head, especially now that he could feel Vilkas' gaze drilling into his back. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. If the Companion still wanted to get rid of him, now was the perfect opportunity. Out in the wilds where nobody watched anything could be passed off as an accident. That was how Wulf would have done it, although he did not think that Vilkas was this cold blooded. The man was a killer certainly, but no murderer. It was only a small consolation, because now the spot between his shoulder blades had begun to itch and he had to clench his hands on the reins to prevent himself from scratching, knowing that it would not help anyways.

When it began to rain Wulfryk happily pulled up his hood, feeling like he was hiding and not caring in the least. He listened to the rhythmic clap of his horse's hooves and let his thoughts wander. It had been a year since he had left Elsweyr. He missed the smell of the sea and the hot, sunny weather. He missed the people he had come to know, his friends. He wondered whether Ralof was in Windhelm now, drinking and laughing with his fellow soldiers. He had sent the Stormcloak a booklet for Mid-Year and though his friend was illiterate, there were plenty of sketches involving General Tulluis, Jarl Elisif and the Thalmor that did not leave much to the imagination.

Thus hours and miles passed and when dusk settled they pulled off the road and into a grove of a few bushes and small twisted trees; but little shelter was better than none and it had the advantage that here they could tie off the horses. Wulf jumped from the saddle and winced from the jarring impact with the hard ground. He stretched his legs, but refrained from massaging his aching backside. Vilkas followed suit and while Wulf held the reins he unburdened the animals from their saddles and packs.

"How about I water the horses, hm?", Wulf offered when the other Nord was done. They worked separately, each pretending to be too busy with his task to notice how uncomfortable the entire situation was.

Half an hour later they had raised the tent and had a fire going and Wulf was poking at it with a stick.

"We made good time today", Vilkas spoke up hesitantly. "We should reach the Whitewatch tomorrow."

"Mhm", Wulf grunted. It did not feel like enough, so he decided to put some effort into it and added "Be nice to have a roof over the head."

Vilkas nodded in agreement and the conversation died after that.

They were sitting at an odd angle, as being opposite of each other would mean that they would have to look at one another. But neither were they side by side, keeping a careful distance as they warmed their meal over the fire. They ate in silence and Wulf refilled their water canteens from a small brook that trickled nearby. He rejoined Vilkas by the fire for a little while, but the tension was hardly pleasant and thus Wulfryk feigned tiredness and decided to turn in early. He got up, wishing the other Nord a 'Good Night', that the warrior returned politely and walked up to their tent, stopping dead in his tracks when he reached it.

Their tent. Their small tent. They were both big Nord, and it would be very...close. Wulf's mind shied away from the term 'intimate'. He had completely forgotten about their sleeping arrangements, or maybe he had repressed it. Wulf borrowed Ralof's favourite phrase and cursed "Talos' balls!"

"What's wrong?", Vilkas asked above the crackling of their fire.

How had he overheard his muttered curse? "I like to sleep naked", Wulf replied without thinking and upon looking back he swore he saw Vilkas' jaw drop and the bowl the warrior was holding in his hands tilt dangerously. It was the truth, and quite out of the question. Because of the cold, Wulf told himself. He settled for pants and a light, sleeveless shirt as sleeping clothes and crawled into his bedroll, using his pack as a pillow and his fur mantle as a second cover. But try as he might, his mind would not shut down and sleep never came. About an hour later Vilkas entered their tent and lay down as far from Wulfryk as possible, very careful not to touch, although he hadn't had any such inhibitions when they had fought. It had to be something else then, that Wulf pondered while he pretended to be asleep, knowing full well that the Companion saw through his act. But it made things easier, if only a little bit and now for once they had an excuse not to talk to each other.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because Wulf woke up at first light after a rather restless night and got up, although he _never_ rose that early. He relieved himself behind a bush and busied himself watering the horses again and stroking the fire back to life. By the time he was done Vilkas was up as well and it only took Wulf one look at his bloodshot eyes to know he wasn't the only one whom sleep had escaped.

Still, he asked out of courtesy "Slept well?"

The Companion glowered at the ground for a moment before giving a curt nod.

"Yeah, me too", Wulf grumbled and he wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping up the facade. If he toppled out of his saddle today, it would reveal his poor lie. Vilkas was pacing back and forth, eager to be off as well. He seemed to be on edge for some reason.

They ate, tore down their camp and set out once more, the day passing in much the same way as the first had done. By the end of it Wulf was close to throwing what Ralof would undoubtedly have called a 'hissy fit'. He could feel Vilkas' eyes follow his every movement. He came close to stopping his horse several times and shouting, or at least demanding what the warrior was unhappy about _this time_, but whenever he turned back the Companion had a look of thoughtfulness rather than one of distrust or even dislike. Maybe he was suffering under the awkwardness as well, but there was nothing Wulf could do to ease the tension. It was not like they had any common ground. A few times he imagined that he had heard the big warrior draw in a deep breath, not quite a sigh, but maybe an attempt to strike up a conversation. Whatever it was, it seemed to weigh heavily on the Companion's mind, and he never got it out, snapping his mouth closed every time. Wulfryk imagined he could hear the man's teeth grind together. He felt relief wash over him as the Tower of Whitewatch finally came into view.

The guardsmen welcomed them with the respect that was due to the Companions and they got a warm meal and two separate, if small rooms. It was obvious that the commanding officer and his second had moved out themselves to sleep with their men. Wulf settled for the night early, fully intending to make up for lost sleep. He stared up at the ceiling for a while, wondering how this little adventure was going to end.

Another day of travel would await them tomorrow. Joy of joys. Wulf couldn't wait for this journey to be over. At least he got a good nights' rest, unknowing that in the next room, Vilkas was wide awake, listening to the howling that was entirely in his head.

* * *

**AN:** A short chapter, I know, but this one was a real b**** to write. Very difficult to begin, because with the celebration I had a pretty good 'close'. Also, I have a lot of text where Wulf and Vilkas do nothing at all and it's really hard to show all that is basically _not_ going on, because it's all beneath the surface without either skipping right past everything or boring you to death. And it's something I call a linking chapter, which means it's preparing the way for things to come. But, at last there is something for you to look forward to!

Oh, and Tafl games are medieval Scandinavian board games.

Furthermore, I've had ZERO motivation this week although I have worked on HT a bit and to my chagrin I realized that the 10th chapter is going to have spoilers for the ending of BtS. And now I'm wondering whether to post it or not, because I haven't decided how I want to end BtS – well, that's not entirely true: I _have_ decided about the ending, but not about the events that lead up to it – and now I want to write HT, but I don't want to rewrite it if events in BtS take me in another direction than what I anticipate now. To put it in a single sentence: I'm terribly frustrated right now.


	12. Chapter 11

Hello, salllzy! It's always nice to see a new, umm, name (I can't exactly say face, can I?) =)

* * *

In the morning Wulf woke up feeling refreshed and full of energy. He had mulled over the problem he had with his fellow Companion yesterday and he had come to a conclusion. It wasn't the best plan, but it was the only one he had and so he decided to follow through with it and treat Vilkas like a person for once, as he would Ralof, Aela, Farkas or anybody else, really.

"Good morning", he greeted the warrior cheerfully when they met in the main hall to break their fast. Vilkas sat slumped, stirring the food in his bowl listlessly and he looked tired, more so than he had done the day before. He had cleaned off his black war paint overnight and the lack of it made the dark bruises beneath his eyes visible.

"Haven't had much sleep today, either?", Wulf asked with a rueful twitch of his lips.

Vilkas only shook his head in negation as there was no use in denying the truth that was so very obvious.

"So, where are we going today?", Wulf wanted to know.

"We follow the road for long as we can", Vilkas replied guardedly. The Companion was used to getting up early and though he was not talkative, especially not in the morning, he had listened to his brother chatter endlessly for his entire life and so the exchange was a welcome diversion.

Although Vilkas seemed surprised at Wulf's unpredicted change of attitude and his responses were stiff and formal at first, when Wulfryk showed no willingness to begin a quarrel or to taunt him he relaxed marginally and slowly warmed up to their breakfast conversation. He even recounted a story from the hundred year long war between the Jarls of Skyrim in which the very tower they were now sitting in had played a crucial part in defending Whiterun's boarder.

When they set out once more, this time the quiet seemed peaceful rather than strained. As usual, Wulf was in the lead, but Vilkas was not far behind, sitting with his chin tucked in and Wulf thought that the Companion might have nodded off, although he could not tell for sure. He made certain to check from time to time whether the man had not fallen off or remained behind, but his mare plodded obediently after Wulfryk's own mount. It was shortly past midday when Vilkas nudged his horse alongside Wulf's, careful not to come too close, because the black has laid back his ears in warning. The other Nord made the impression of being more alert than he had been a few hours ago, so maybe he had actually been resting.

"In Valenwood...", the Companion began out of the blue "...do the Mer really live in trees?"

"Huh?", Wulf grunted in surprise. They had spent two days in near total silence and Vilkas' sudden question made him jump. "Oh, yes. And some of the trees walk around, which is scary as hell", he replied offhandedly, curious as to whether Vilkas would take the bait. He did.

"Walking trees? You are making that up", Vilkas scoffed.

"Not at all", Wulf laughed. "I didn't know myself as nobody had warned me; I now believe they did it on purpose to scare me."

The Bosmer had invited him to stay with them overnight during one of his travels as several of them had never seen a Nord before. Some dwellings of the Woodelves were very secluded indeed.

"They live in tree houses, well the more traditional ones do", he resumed, remembering how he had slept very uneasily then, too. Everything had creaked and swayed and the ground was so very far away, but refusing would have been insulting. "When I woke up the tree had moved some twenty miles overnight and I nearly freaked out, because my hosts pretended that it was me imagining things." He had come close to crying, because he had fallen asleep in a valley and woken on top of a little hill and by the time the elves admitted to their prank, he had been too relieved to be mad.

"But it was all in good fun and I forgave them, maybe because the Bosmer are so tiny, they're almost cute, even though they can be a mean shot with the bow. And never joke about taking an axe to one of their walking trees. They won't think it very funny", Wulf added as if in afterthought.

"I take it you did just that", Vilkas supplied with a small smile.

"Aye", Wulf agreed readily and light-heartedly continued "And it's a good thing I'm a fast runner because I tend to be a slow thinker at times."

Vilkas burst out laughing, the sound deep and throaty and entirely pleasant. Wulf looked up in surprise. In half a year he could not remember whether he had heard the man laugh even once. Vilkas was always so serious, it made teasing him all the more fun, but a joyful expression suited him so much better than his usual scowl. It also made him look quite a bit younger and for the first time Wulfryk found himself wondering about the Companion's age.

"You know, my brother was actually right", the big warrior finally said with one last amused chuckle and a shake of his head.

"Huh. What about?", Wulf wanted to know.

But Vilkas only smiled and refused to tell and all Wulfryk could think of was what Farkas had told him, namely that his brother liked him. It had been hard to believe, but, maybe...well, they weren't hating each other at the moment, right?

If he wasn't getting an answer, Wulf decided to distract himself and asked about what was on his mind "How old are you, anyway?"

"Guess", Vilkas prompted with an amused glint in his eyes.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd believe you were older than me", Wulf mused. "But it can't be, because Farkas is your twin and he is no older than...", at this point Wulfryk narrowed his eyes at Vilkas, appraising the warrior one last time. "Five-and-twenty", he finally said.

"You're right", Vilkas confirmed, not at all surprised that Wulf had gotten his age right. The man was much more observant than the Nord had at first given him credit for. "And what about you? Am I right in assuming that you're older than you look?"

Wulfryk grimaced, but nodded nonetheless. "Add three years", he finally conceded.

"In that case you're getting old", the other man stated dryly and Wulf almost shot back something nasty, because dammit, he wasn't old, until he noticed that Vilkas was teasing, which was not something the Companion had done before.

Keeping up the banter was easy and Wulf joked "Yeah, I'm virtually a doter. Watch out, for I shall have you carrying my packs and cooking my meals in no time"

By now the two men were so engrossed, they narrowly avoided an accident when Wulf's horse decided to pick a fight. Wulfryk used his reins to slap it sharply, muttering "Stupid nag". Vilkas' mare looked smug when her rider only gave her a pat for her good behaviour.

"Your horse has terrible manners", the big warrior complained.

"Sorry", Wulf apologised. "He was like that when I got him." A second after the words had left his mouth, Wulfryk could have bitten off his own tongue for betraying him like that.

With a smirk and in a deceptively sweet voice Vilkas asked "And where would that be?"

A supposed convict had no reason to own a horse, besides of the obvious one. "Ehh, do you really want to know?" Wulf drew out the words carefully, wondering just how much of an offence to the Companions' honour theft would be.

"I guess it's none of my business", Vilkas sighed. He had learned his lesson at Mid-Year. He only hoped that his fellow traveller would see how much effort it took him not to snoop. It was his way of saying 'See, I'm trying'. Instead he enquired "What was it like?"

"Having my head on the block?", Wulf asked. "Mildly unpleasant", he decided with an unhappy frown.

"No, the dragon", Vilkas clarified with an amused snort.

"Oh." Wulf should have known. Everybody wanted to know about the dragon. "Big", he began. "Black. And it was spewing fire and talking, which, if you ask me, is fucking terrifying."

He was wondering whether Vilkas would now believe that he had lost his wits, but the Nord only furrowed his brows. After a while he enquired "What did it say?"

In disbelief Wulf retorted "Do I look like I speak dragon? Maybe I was imagining things", he admitted immediately afterwards.

"No, I do not believe so", Vilkas replied, a contemplative frown still on his face. "You must have heard the ancient language. The records from the dragon war are very old, but they all report that dragons are intelligent beings, not mindless beasts. It stands to reason that they should have their own language. And as to their ability to breathe fire; there are those amongst humans who can harness the power of their words as well. The Thu'um, we call it. The Greybeards are known for their mastery of the voice. As is Ulfric Stormcloak", Vilkas added.

For once Wulf was struck speechless. "How do you know all that?"

"I've read about it", Vilkas replied looking very self-satisfied. "What my dear brother does not understand is that sometimes swinging your sword at the enemy is not enough. Knowledge can be a powerful weapon as well."

It was a sentiment Wulf could agree wholeheartedly with, as he had spent his entire life living by those very words.

"Those books", Vilkas resumed after a moment "Where did you get them from? I've read the first volume once and spent two years trying to find the other tomes without success."

Now it was Wulf's turn to look smug. "I got them from the Jarl's own library or rather, his court wizard's", he answered.

"How on earth did you talk him into giving them to you?" Vilkas voice was ripe with curiosity and maybe a little admiration. From what he knew Farengar the wizard was a rather dour fellow who believed others to be unworthy of his precious time. A man devoted to his studies and the 'art' of magic, it seemed not even he was immune to Wulf's power of persuasion. The gift had been the nicest thing anybody had done for him in ages.

Wulf's reply was a bit vague. "He owed me rather big", the Nord remarked elusively.

Vilkas had heard of a quest the Jarl had sent Wulfryk on and was sure that said favour must have been linked to it. There was one more thing that was not giving him any rest. "All I want to know is – why?", Vilkas enquired. "I haven't exactly been...", the warrior halted for one brief moment before continuing "...gracious." And that was putting it mildly, he knew.

"It was Mid-Year", Wulf simply stated. "Everybody deserves gifts on Mid-Year", he said with a note of bitterness in his voice. From one second to the next he shook off his melancholy expression and resumed "And I thought they might make you less...grumpy."

Vilkas pursed his lips in slight annoyance. 'Damn the whelp', he thought almost fondly. "Is there something that would make you less annoying?", he shot back.

"I'm afraid not", Wulf replied with an apologetic smile. "I'm an acquired taste", he finished with a decisive nod of his head.

Vilkas decided not to comment. "How did you know those were the very books I was looking for?", he enquired instead.

"Farkas told me", Wulf admitted.

Upon the mention of his brother's name, the harsh planes of Vilkas' face softened into an expression of tenderness that Wulf had noticed him only display when around his twin. Wulfryk did not think that the big Nord was aware of that fact. He thought he was slowly beginning to understand the Companion.

"I take it you enjoy the reading?", he observed with a small smile of his own.

"I do enjoy them. I just wish I could travel to some of the places myself", Vilkas replied with a look of wistful longing.

"Who knows? One day you might do just that", Wulf tried to console him. You never knew what life held in store, after all.

But his words, well meant as they were, seemed to have a different effect on the other man. "That's unlikely. I could never leave the Companions", Vilkas responded, sounding distanced once more.

"Why not? The Companions can go on without you for a year or two."

"Not if Kodlak...", Vilkas began and broke off his half-finished sentence abruptly.

"Not if Kodlak – what?", Wulf wanted to know.

But Vilkas was just shaking his head, unwilling to give a straight answer. "I cannot leave the Companions", he simply repeated, with a hint of defeat.

Wulf decided it was better to lay the matter to rest.

When he looked around he had to discover to his own surprise that the sun was already low in the sky. A few more miles and they would leave the tundra; from here they already could see a line of trees that stood out darkly against the horizon. The day had practically flown by and Wulfryk had to admit that he had enjoyed it. The same could be said of Vilkas and together they picked a good place to strike up camp, dividing the work as they had on the first two days. The routine was comforting and it did not take them long at all before they had the horses settled, the tent up and the food out and sizzling in the pan. They had resupplied at the watchtower and had enough to last them for the next two days. They could even make it four, but there was no reason for such rationing.

Tiredness overwhelmed Wulf soon after eating and he retreated for the night, falling asleep immediately probably due to having a full belly. He did not sleep long though, as he was startled awake in the middle of the night. Looking around he noticed that Vilkas' bedroll was lying untouched in the corner and that of the man himself there was no sign. Wulfryk crawled out of the tent to find the Companion adding sticks to their dying fire that crackled loudly when the dry wood caught fire.

"My apologies", Vilkas said "I did not mean to wake you up."

Why he was still up Wulf could not fathom and he asked the obvious "You're not sleeping?"

Vilkas only shook his head in negation.

"Why not? Is something wrong?" Wulfryk really hoped that the other man wasn't going to unload his heart's woes, because he really was terrible when it came to dealing with feelings.

Vilkas sat unmoving for a while, before he let out his breath in a long sigh and fell back to look up at the stars. "No", he said softly. "It's just insomnia."

Wulf felt somewhat relieved and he made himself comfortable, folding his legs beneath him. "I might as well show some solidarity and keep you company."

"That's admirable, but not necessary. You should get your rest", Vilkas replied, not ungratefully.

But Wulf wasn't thinking about following that quite reasonable advice and prodded further "Is there anything that helps? I have herbs if you're willing to experiment", he said.

"I have already tried that method and it does not work", Vilkas explained.

Wulf seemed lost in thought for a moment and a while later he proposed "Maybe warm milk would help?"

The Companion only shot him a dark glare.

"A backrub?", Wulf suggested next, because he was running out of ideas. "Or could knock you out", he offered helpfully. "I've been wanting to do that for some time now."

In the darkness next to him he heard Vilkas' soft laugh. That was twice in a day. Wulfryk felt like he deserved a medal or something. "Aye", the other man admitted. "I know that feeling."

Wulf leaned back as well and they both stared at the bright canopy of stars for a long time; each lost in his own thoughts. Somewhere, far in the distance wolves howled. Vilkas raised his head slightly at the sound, tilting it to the side and then he did the last thing Wulf expected: he curled his hands so they formed a cone and howled back, the sound surprisingly lifelike. The wolves answered, their mournful cries carrying through the dark.

"Maybe we should guard our camp, I wouldn't fancy waking up and finding out that our horses have been eaten."

"That won't be necessary, they won't bother us", Vilkas assured him softly, a faraway look on his face.

There was something unreadable in his voice, but Wulfryk chose not to bother the man about it. Instead, he went back to looking at the sky. In Elsweyr the stars had been different, he thought and felt a small pang of homesickness for the country he had lived in before he had come to Skyrim.

Vilkas seemed to sense his pensive mood and silence once more settled over the camp, until the Companion raised his hand and pointed out a few bright stars. "See those stars? That's Ysgramor's Belt. He's using it to strangle the Great Giant", the other Nord began.

"Really?" Wulf wasn't familiar with the constellations of the north, but Vilkas would be. It was fascinating, only..., "I don't see anything", Wulf grumbled, squinting his eyes. "What's that one?", he asked, pointing at another cluster of stars.

"The Dancing Hoarker", Vilkas replied without hesitation.

"And those?"

"The White Wolf...that..erm...humps Talos' Leg."

"What?", Wulf cried in disbelief. "Who names a constellation like that?", he wanted to know and turned to look at Vilkas only to see the man shaking with silent laughter. It downed on him that he had just been made a huge fool of. "Hey, that's...", but Wulf couldn't think of anything so he settled for a lame "...not fair", and a punch to Vilkas' arm.

"You're welcome to make up a few of your own", the big warrior invited him to join the game.

"All right, let's see." Wulfryk stretched out, laying down his head on one arm. With the other he indicated some stars to the far left. "I can see a sieve, snowflakes, and those over there kind of look like a cactus", he mused.

They went at it for a while until Wulf noticed another constellation. "Look, there's a giant cock."

"Where?" Vilkas narrowed his eyes. "You're right, it does rather look like a...- wait, what was that?", he asked, serious all of a sudden, his gaze glued to a point in the sky where the stars flickered and disappeared as something covered them.

"Looks like a cloud", Wulfryk thought aloud. "Although it's moving fast." Especially on this windless night. 'Oh, no', he thought. 'Oh no, no, no, no, no'.

And then there was no more doubt, because Wulf _felt_ it and he jumped up faster than if a horse had kicked him. "Put out the fire, he hissed at the Companion and together they extinguished it hurriedly by covering it with soil.

"Is that...", Vilkas breathed, but Wulf did not let him finish.

"Dragon", he bit out through clenched teeth. "Get on your horse, we ride now!", he ordered, already sprinting for his mount and for once Vilkas obeyed without question and without delay. There was no way the dragon could have missed their campfire; it probably had been the only source of light in a radius of several dozen miles. Wulfryk yanked open the knot of the rope that tethered his horse to a bush and vaulted upon its back and before he was even properly seated he was tearing across the plain in a full gallop, Vilkas in tow. He used the single rope as reins and held onto a fistful of mane for balance, but in retrospect it was almost a miracle that he did not break his neck or his horses' legs in his mad dash through the dark.

Behind him, a roar tore through the quiet sounds of the night. A hush fell over the land and the only sound Wulf heard was the frantic beat his horse's hooves drummed against the ground and his own blood thundering in his ears, the pounding rising in volume. It wasn't his blood after all, he realized, but the thump of wings coming closer.

He kicked his horse to go faster and the black did, flying over the ground, but Wulf doubted that even a pure blooded Imperial horse would have been able to outrun a dragon on the wing for long. His own mount might be able to keep up the murderous pace for a while longer, but Vilkas' Nord mare was already lagging behind. They had to find cover, and fast. The dragon let out another roar and this time it seemed to come from almost directly above them. Wulfryk might make it to the trees in time, but Vilkas never would.

The dragon only needed to fly a little lower and to open its jaws. Wulf could still hear the death screams of men being roasted alive and smell the sickly sweet odour of charred flesh. And there was nothing they could do against a foe that was up in the sky. Well, almost nothing. It was crazy and most likely suicidal. But it might just be their only chance.

xxxx

Vilkas cursed under his breath as he urged his own horse on, although he did not doubt that the mare was already giving everything she had. Wulfryk had taken off like an arrow and left the lumbering Nord horse and its rider behind. Damn the whelp, he was all bark, but where was he when one of his shield-siblings was in trouble? Not that there was much he could do against a dragon. Neither could Vilkas and that was the worst of it.

Things had gone so well since this morning. Now that Vilkas' sole focus had not been on hating Wulfryk, he found that he was beginning to enjoy the other man's company. Wulf might be an insolent, cocky whelp, but he was clever and even his wit was amusing, now that Vilkas wasn't on the receiving end of his jokes. He had been offended at first, but after a while he had come to realize that Wulfryk was as quick to make fun of himself as he was of anybody else.

All of a sudden Vilkas had become conscious of the fact that he wanted to get to know the man better. They still weren't what he'd call friends, after all there was some bad blood between them that needed cleaning away, but today they had made progress in becoming just that. For a moment, as they had lain in the grass he thought he had felt a closeness between them; a bond forming. He had begun their little game of naming constellations, as that was something he had liked to do when he had been younger, back when he had stayed up late because he had wanted to.

Now the Nord's head was still reeling from how quickly their fortunes had changed. One moment everything had been fine and in the next they were running for their lives, as not to end up eaten by a legend come to life. He felt a breeze ruffle his hair and he knew that it was not wind. When the warrior looked up, the dragon's silhouette was everything he could see; the stars all but hidden behind its massive bulk. When it roared, Vilkas could smell decaying meet on its hot breath; the smell of death. But he was a Companion and if he was to end up in the dragon's belly, he would make it eat steel. This was it: victory or Sovn...victory or the hunting grounds.

Before he could even draw his sword, there was a flash of light in the distance and a familiar voice shouted "Hey! HEY, you ugly lizard, I am here!" The light became brighter and waved around wildly. "Come, get your fat ass moving and face me, if you dare!"

Vilkas drew in a sharp breath. What in oblivion was the man doing and where had he gotten the torch from?

The dragon let out a bellow of rage and let off Vilkas, swerving sharply and changing its course.

And then it dawned on Vilkas that Wulfryk was taunting the dragon, drawing it away from the Companion and ensuring his escape.

"That's it, you sodding heap of scales!"

His plan worked flawlessly; powerful strokes of the beast's wings propelled if forward, it passed over Vilkas without paying any further notice to the Companion as it lunged in pursuit of the small cone of light. The Nord had had several hundred yards head start, but now the distance between him and the monster was dwindling rapidly, even as Vilkas was falling further and further behind, his horse blown and barely managing to keep up a gallop.

Gods, Wulf was such an idiot. A very brave idiot and, an accomplished fighter, a warrior facing his enemy with courage and in the end – a loyal companion. And at that very moment Vilkas' greatest regret was that he had never apologized, never had the chance for them to become friends and maybe something more.

Spreading its huge wings, the dragon at last came to a stop, languidly rearing up in the air and effectively cutting off Wulf's further way.

And Vilkas' heart stopped beating when he saw the small figure face down the dragon on his own.

* * *

**AN**: That wasn't quite how I planned for this chapter to go. Oh, well.

As usual I have no control over where the story is going. The characters just take the reins in hand and I try to keep up with them, writing it all down.


	13. Chapter 12

to voltagelisa: I'm glad you liked this chapter. I'll try to keep up the writing, I'll really do.

to Springinkerl: When it comes to stars, I have all of Wulf's creativity. I see snowflakes everywhere I look^^

And there's a warning for adult themes ahead, just consider yourselves to be warned!

* * *

Wulf's horse came to a sudden stop when the dragon rose in front of it and Wulf was almost hurtled over the animal's neck. Only his tight grip on its mane kept him from toppling to the ground. He went cross-eyed from the sharp pain when he was thrown forward with full force and busted his middle parts against the horse's bony withers. _Oh, bloody sodding_..._fuck._

A deep rumble of amusement arose from the dragon as it beheld the man curling in pain and the pathetic beast of prey he sat upon. They were where all mortals belonged: terrified and at the dovah's feet. The dragon would show them what awaited those that mocked it. A slow, painful death to leave them writhing in pain would do nicely. Their shrieks of agony would be like music to its eats. The other mortal could wait. The dovah would deal with the man in front of him first. Let the other watch. Let it be a lesson to him.

Wulf looked up at the monster in front of, and above him. His mount had frozen in fear, eyes rolled back, but he could feel it trembling beneath him. He swore he heard the damned lizard laughing at him. Now was the time to act. Too bad he hadn't planned ahead; his mind was completely blank. Why wasn't the dragon doing anything? It just hung in the air, beating its wings lazily and regarded the warrior with one fiery eye. Their gazes met and Wulf saw intelligence - and malice in them. And then the spell was broken and the dragon righted its head once more and its chest expanded in preparation for the fiery breath it was about to unleash on its victim.

Vilkas was bent low over his horse's neck, his gaze fixed on his quarry. Four hundred yards. He had to make it! His mount fell into a trot, unable to keep up the gallop for any longer. White foam coated the mare's flanks and her neck where the reins rubbed against it.

The dragon still hung motionlessly in the air and regarded the small figure beneath it, but all of a sudden, Vilkas saw it move again. The Companion swore vehemently. Three hundred yards still separated him from Wulf. And now he had run out of time and worse, he had failed his shield-brother.

Unknowing that he was mirroring the dragon, Wulfryk drew in a deep breath of his own. Lately he had been forced to rely on magic far too much, but he really had no choice this time. At least the element of surprise was with him. What was it that his Altmer patron had used to say? 'Fight fire with fire', that had been it. It had never made much sense, but today Wulf did just that, throwing two balls of fire at the beast. He prayed to all the gods that were willing to listen for dragons not to be immune to fire – or magic.

The dragon jerked back its reptilian head in surprise and thanks to its quick reflexes it narrowly avoided being hit by the fiery orb.

Which was fine. Because the attack was only a distraction.

With the dragon's focus on avoiding having a part of its snout torn off, the second fireball hit true.

The silence of the night was once more shattered when the dragon let out a bellow of fury and pain and – something else.

'_YOL TOOR SHUL'_

The deadly jet of flame went astray, however, when the dragon unexpectedly lost height, spinning wildly, unable to keep still for even one moment. Its right wing had been hit and a gaping hole was torn in the delicate membrane.

The last thing Vilkas expected was an explosion up in the sky. He saw the flash of light and heard the dragon's roar, a single word forming in his mind and disbelief clouding his face. Magic! It had to be. Not a second later he beheld the dragon breathing fire and for one moment, Vilkas' heart forgot how to beat. His eyes roved over the plain frantically, but he could not spot Wulf. Wait! There was movement, a dark silhouette against the starry sky. Behind it the dragon had begun to fall, beating its wings rapidly and spinning like the seed of an acorn. In its fury, the monster released torrents of flame left and right, but after the storms not even the grass would burn properly. A few small fires ignited and by their light Vilkas glimpsed Wulf riding hard through the smoke, back in the direction of their camp.

The Companion turned his horse around, heading in the same direction and leaving behind in the distance the screeches of the angry, injured dragon. Somehow they had gotten out of this fix alive and Vilkas knew he had to thank Wulfryk for that. He would, as soon as he found the man.

By the time Wulf reached the camp, he no longer felt like fainting, but he could feel the sweat pour down his face and his stomach heave. This had been close. Too close.

He jumped from his panting mount, his legs unsteady and begun to pack, throwing his belongings together messily in his hurry and put the tack on his horse in what must have been record time. A moment later he heard the muffled beat of hooves that announced Vilkas' arrival. The big warrior dismounted and ran up to where now Wulf was standing bent over, bracing his hands on his knees and fighting the heaves, his spinning head and the pain that began to blossom behind his closed eyelids.

"Wulfryk!", the Companion shouted and Wulfryk felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him upright, steadying him. "Wulf, are you hurt?"

Concern shone in the big warrior's eyes. At least that's what Wulf thought it was. He knew Vilkas had to be shaken as badly as he was, if not worse. After all, Wulf had already survived one dragon attack before. And he had done more than ran away this time. Shooting a dragon from the sky, if that did not make for a great tale, he did not know what would. Therefore, he forced a smile on his face. It was either that or coming apart for good. "I'm...all right", he panted.

The whelp was fine. Vilkas' first emotion was one of intense relief, closely followed by a feeling of great irritation. He was fine and grinning like an idiot. Which he was. Grinning!

"I...never...saw anybody do something so...", Vilkas spluttered. Brave, his mind supplied. Bold. Selfless. "Incredibly stupid!", he roared, shaking the whelp. "What in oblivion were you thinking?! You could have gotten yourself killed."

"The idea was more to prevent _you_ from being eaten by the dragon", Wulf muttered, subdued by Vilkas' unexpected outburst. It had worked and he could not understand why Vilkas was so very upset. The Companion let go of him and Wulf staggered with the sudden loss of support. An accusing finger was levelled at his face.

"Why didn't you tell me you're a mage?", the big warrior wanted to know, angry now.

"What does it matter? And I'm not a mage", Wulf suddenly found himself on the defensive.

"It does matter!", Vilkas ground out. "It's dishonourable!" Not to mention that magic and those who used it were a danger to all whom they associated with.

"I'm sorry I only used it to save your sorry ass, then", Wulf cried in bewilderment.

Vilkas seemed to come back to his senses slowly. "Aye. Thank you", he replied quietly.

Wulf wondered if either of them had taken a blow to the head. This entire situation was so ridiculous it could not be real. "You're welcome. Can we please get the hell away from here, now?", he urged.

Vilkas jumped into action at once. He had no idea how he could have forgotten the dragon already. He tore down their tent, tossed his armour and belongings on his horse and, leading the tired animals by the reins, they put as much distance between themselves and the monster as possible.

After about an hour of walking Vilkas broke the silence "So that was the dragon you saw at Helgen?"

"No", Wulf answered. "It wasn't nearly big enough", he finished.

Vilkas looked like he was vaguely sick. "So it isn't only one dragon we're dealing with. They have come back", he whispered. "They have indeed come back."

They did not speak again and they did not stop, not when dawn arrived and not throughout the day. When the sun began to set once more they were exhausted, stumbling alongside their horses that had recuperated better than their riders. Vilkas' vision blurred by the time the road took them through a thick forest. It was the best shelter they would find and they decided to rest here, not bothering to pitch the tent. They just tossed it on the ground and crawled inside and even Vilkas was out in the blink of an eye, insomnia or not.

In the morning Wulf woke only because something heavy across his chest made breathing difficult. That something turned out to be Vilkas. He or maybe Wulf had turned around and now the Companion used his fellow traveller as a pillow, head and arm resting on Wulfryk's chest. His expression had softened in sleep and he looked younger. Wulf took his sweet time to stare. He knew he would not catch the big warrior off guard anytime soon again. Neither of them had bothered to shave in the few days they had been on the road and thick stubble covered Vilkas' face, although it still was much shorter than Wulf's own beard. The war paint the Companion used had smeared and together with his tousled dark hair it gave him a roughish appearance that usually only showed in his brother.

Wulfryk felt a distinct stirring of interest. Vilkas might be a grumpy son of a snowtroll at times, but he was still hot and Wulf was just a man and had certain urges. Ones that weren't exactly getting any fulfilment by him lying next to the Companion and doing nothing about them. But whether the Nord would welcome such attentions, was anyone's guess. He would have to find out.

For now should Wulf poke at him with an elbow and a manly grunt or enjoy the contact while it lasted? He decided not to disturb the sleeping warrior. Vilkas had gone nearly three days without sleep, but Wulf's reason was not that selfless at all.

xxxx

The dragon that called itself Mirmulnir spread its wings and surveyed the damage done to them. He had been on his way to his ancient home which lay amongst Skyrim's highest peaks when he had spotted the fire on the plains below. It was not the way of the dovah to fly after dark, but this time the circumstances certainly were...unique. Also, dragons did not feed at night, like some lowly predators that needed to slink up to their prey. They were superior beings that had established their place at the top of the food chain centuries ago. When they came, it was in broad daylight for everyone to see and with a deafening roar to announce their coming and the imminent death of all that stood in their way.

Mirmulnir had not been able to pass by this lovely chance to saw destruction and terror, however. A little hunt to amuse himself and to taste fresh blood again, after the deprivation of ages. But his prey had turned out to be far more resourceful than he had anticipated, and not only had it escaped the encounter unharmed, no, it had also had the gall and audacity to insult the mighty dovah and to ruin its right wing.

The First-Born wanted him to attack the city of mortals, but he would have to wait as it would take some time for the membrane to heal. And then, when he could fly once more, Mirmulnir swore to take his sweet vengeance upon the mortals.

xxxx

Wulfryk and Vilkas continued with their journey, but from now on they kept a close watch on the skies. Every time there was movement, Vilkas felt his stomach drop and his pulse pick up a frantic pace. Wulf wasn't off any better. The shape of a bird, seen out of the corner of an eye was enough to make him jump, hands on his sword and shield or, sometimes, writhed in flame.

The eighth time it happened, Vilkas slung his sword once more over his back without comment and watched as Wulf put out the fire simply by clenching his hands. The Companion still wasn't sure what to think about the magic. It could be useful, yes, and only with its help had they been able to escape certain death, and yet Vilkas firmly believed that it and those who wielded it could not be trusted. Anybody who possessed this kind of power would sooner or later feel compelled to expand it. Vilkas knew firsthand of the horrors and abuse power hungry mages could inflict on others.

A few weeks ago Vilkas would not even think twice. He would have hated the whelp all the more, sneered down at him for not being able to fight like a true Nord: with steel and not foul tricks. But Wulf had not used his magic to beat him in the training ring. In fact, he had not used it at all during half the year he had spent amongst the Companions. If he had he wouldn't have been able to keep it secret; his shield-siblings all loved to gossip. Except for Vilkas. He cared little for hearsay and try as he might, he could not bring himself to hate Wulf. Though, after the time they had spent together he still did not know what to make of the man.

The Companion risked another covert glimpse at the other Nord. It wasn't his handsome face or stunningly blue eyes that drew Vilkas' attention. Well, it wasn't _only_ them.

Now that they were alone and there was nobody to brag to Wulf was surprisingly quiet. His overconfident smile had fallen away days ago and Vilkas was struck by the thought that for the first time he glimpsed the man behind the brash attitude and sharp tongue. Wulf was calm and serene and focused on the job. Professional. The Companion liked the change. Actually, against his former beliefs the Nord was an easygoing travelling companion and a bottomless well of knowledge about the far dwellings of Tamriel, as well as a source of some of the most outlandish tales Vilkas had ever heard.

He was still teasing occasionally, but the cruel streak that usually accompanied his humour was all but gone.

They did not talk, not like they had done before. Something between them had changed and Vilkas was glad it was for the better. To let the silence sink in would mean to let the dragon win, in a way. They kept the conversation flowing, not willing to let the fear take hold of them again, to let it have power over them.

"And to you, what does it mean to be a Companion?", Wulf asked one day, shortly before they reached their destination.

Vilkas mulled over the question for a while before replying "There's been a group called the Companions for over four thousand years. It's been many different things in that time. A conquering army. Ruthless mercenaries. A band of drunken louts."

At this point Wulf snorted loudly, because whatever the Companions had been, he doubted there had ever been a time when they weren't drunken louts.

Vilkas chuckled softly and in a slightly mocking voice he continued "And the esteemed company you have met. But there's always been honour to it. We don't deal in politics or underhanded sneaking. We try to uphold the legacy of Ysgramor. To bear his good name such that it never be forgotten, and always be spoken with reverence."

"That is a huge pile of rubbish, Vilkas", Wulf retorted. "I asked about what the Companions meant to you, not for a lesson in history."

"They're family", Vilkas replied simply.

"You don't have one of your own?", Wulf enquired cautiously. It was an uncomfortable topic he had suddenly stumbled upon and a sign of how much Vilkas' attitude towards him had changed when the Companion didn't rebuff him. Or maybe the warrior's defences were down. He hadn't been sleeping anymore.

"I do, now. And I've always had Farkas", the Companion answered softly.

"How did you come to join the Companions?", Wulf asked, changing the topic somewhat. He had already talked to Farkas, but he was curious as to what Vilkas would say. As expected, their versions of the story differed from each other, as much as the twins themselves were different.

"We were brought to Jorrvaskr by Jergen. Whether he was our father or not, I don't care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back", Vilkas recounted briefly. "We've been here for as long as either of us can remember, though." It wasn't the entire truth, but Wulf didn't have to know that. Farkas didn't remember a time before the Companions, but Vilkas did. In addition, growing up amongst a group of people known for their skill in drinking and in killing had not always been easy. In fact, it was not a place for children at all and the gods only knew how they would have turned out to be, if not for Tilma and Aela's parents. "To hear Farkas tell it, our father raised us happy as pups, running around, biting knees. I love my brother, but his brains are not his strong suit", Vilkas resumed.

But there were good memories as well. With a silent chuckle Vilkas told something he had heard too many times to count by now "Kodlak was always fond of saying that my brother got Ysgramor's strength and I his wits."

Wulf smiled. "Because having brawns, brains and good looks would be too much to ask for?"

Vilkas had begun to nod then broke off abruptly and stared at the man riding next to him. Wait, what?! He saw a small smile playing around Wulf's mouth. Was the Nord...flirting with him? Surely, he must have misheard.

If this was another of the man's jokes, he would punch the whelp's face in. Why the thought of Wulf fooling around angered him so much, he did not know. Because he was not interested in him, Vilkas thought, even as his stomach flipped, the sensation quite different from what he had felt when the dragon had attacked. It was...pleasant. Joyful.

All blood drained from Vilkas' face. Oh. Oh, gods, no. He was _not_ developing a crush on the whelp. He tried to call back to mind the hate he had harboured for the man when he had first met him, but his mind supplied him with different pictures of Wulfryk instead.

Of how Wulf had faced a dragon to keep it from harming Vilkas. Of the man who did not think reading to be a waste of time, or something only scholars did. His skill in wielding the blade, his brash grin and even an image of a laughing Wulf on Mid-Year, when they had drunk together. There were other clues as well. His concern for the other man's safety. Wulf was a Nord, a death on the field of battle would mean ascension to Sovngarde. That was something so strive for, not to fear.

_Oh, gods. _

Vilkas' stomach did another flip. Damn the whelp! He had never had this many conflicting feelings about anybody or anything else before and certainly not this intense.

When next Vilkas turned to face the man riding beside him, he saw that Wulf was observing his every move. The other warrior raised his eyebrows, as if in question and Vilkas swallowed thickly, blushing slightly.

"So...", Wulf began innocently enough, drawing out the first word "Is there anybody special in your life?"

There was. His brother, but Vilkas knew that this was not what Wulf was asking about. He did not want to talk about the private aspects of his life, but there was no reason not to. Wulf's question was absolutely normal, simple friendly interest.

"No, there is no one right now", Vilkas answered trying to sound nonchalant. But the whelp had to prod further.

"Why not?", Wulf wanted to know. "I think being a Companion would offer you a lot of opportunities."

It did, usually. Farkas could barely leave the mead hall and not be downright assaulted by women eager for his attention. In his earlier years he too had had plenty of lovers and he and his brother had used to brag about their conquests, but that had been before...before his acceptance into the Circle.

Vilkas was saved from further questions when Wulfryk spotted a tower in the distance and lost track of their conversation. "It that...?", the warroir asked. He never finished, because the fort they were headed for had no name.

Vilkas frowned, regarding the lonely tower with a thoughtful expression. "This must be it", he said more to himself, than to Wulf. They had followed Kodlak's directions and everything else fit. The shape of the peaks that rose high above the foothills and the dense forest that surrounded them. The gentle, rolling slopes further down. They would approach under the cover of trees and leave the horses behind. From there it would take them approximately two hours to reach the tower. Once it might have had a commanding view of the valley, but now its owners had let the forest grow close. It would make their mission so much easier, Vilkas thought.

This was the moment he dreaded most. He knew Wulf could hold his own in a fight, but they were shield-brothers now, responsible for each other's safety. Soon they would discover whether they were well-matched or a complete disaster when it came to fighting together. As Vilkas was the senior Companion and a member of the Circle, he was in command. Theoretically. Wulfryk was unpredictable at the best of times. 'If the whelp did not know how to follow orders', Vilkas thought darkly, 'he would teach him. The hard way, if necessary'.

For now there was no indication that Wulf meant to be trouble. Their camp was dark tonight as they sat together, discussing the plan for tomorrow.

"All right, whelp", Vilkas finally summarized and ignored Wulfryk's annoyed sniff at being addressed as such. "We go in and you take out as many with your bow as you can. Watch out for archers, in special. I'll have your back and keep any fighters away from you. The path up to the tower is narrow, two can barely walk abreast and none will make it past me", he said, sounding confident and Wulf believed him. "One you're done shooting, circle around and take them from the back. And remember: we're here to retrieve the family axe and no harm's to come to the man who stole it. He'll be the one in charge, the leader. Is everything clear?"

"Yeah", Wulf sighed. He knew how this sort of thing worked. Vilkas was the boss now and Wulfryk would respect that. He had not stayed in his line of business for years by annoying his clients. They lay down to rest shortly after.

Vilkas was feeling more confident after their briefing and because Wulf's serious, professional demeanour was still in place. They had worked out a tactic within minutes and there was not one point where they had disagreed. Those bandits would never know what hit them, the Companion thought with no small measure of satisfaction.

However, after another sleepless night and a painful headache in the morning he was in a decisively foul mood. Wulf sensed his mood and remained quiet for once as they buckled on armour and checked their weapons one last time. Vilkas ran a whetstone along the blade of his sword, which would spill blood soon. He was looking forward to the fighting. It would be good to vent his anger on their foes. Unlike his fellow Companions, Vilkas had not suffered by being cooped up in Jorrvaskr. But he too needed to let out the beast in him occasionally. Man grew accustomed to bloodshed and eventually, even to like it and that was a monster entirely of human make.

Vilkas adjusted the straps that held his greatsword to his back. Wulf had his sword at his hip, his shield slung across his back and a bow and arrows in his left hand. They were ready. The Companion nodded once and set out in front, his entire focus on his surroundings and the mission.

Everything went as planned until...until it didn't.

The fighting was going well and Wulf should have known that his good luck would not hold and indeed he ran out of it when he slipped over a patch of gravel, the small stones loose and rolling under his feet. And then things went downhill, or rather the nobleman-gone-rogue did, and they could hear his screams dwindling in the distance, as he fell down the mountainside. _Oh, Shit._

Except for a few tense sentences and Vilkas roaring "You damned, stupid klutz!", when Wulf had almost slipped over the edge, they had not spoken again. At least Vilkas had recovered the axe, but they were back to day one, only now it was Wulfryk glaring daggers at the Companion's back. Vilkas had given him a lengthy lecture about how he would never be a Companion and Wulf might have reacted badly to it. The man had every right to be angry, and Wulf none to argue back. But he did, even more so because he knew he was in the wrong. And now the rift between them was greater than ever, if possible.

Vilkas fumed inwardly. The fight had been less than satisfactory, the bandits ill equipped and of little skill. Oh, and they had failed. They had had two objectives.

Vilkas had the axe. He would let Kodlak have one educated guess as to who had managed to fuck up the second half of their mission. Only, shield brothers went on assignments together. They shared both the glory and the dishonour. It meant that Wulf's stupid stunt would reflect badly on Vilkas. Did the whelp care? No! And apparently he disagreed, because he had remained as blockheaded as ever.

In truth, this was what had driven the Companion livid. Not the only half-successful mission, but the obtuse way Wulfryk had behaved about it. Vilkas' consolation was that soon they would be back; Whiterun was so close, he could make out the distinct shape of Jorrvaskr already.

"Look", Wulfryk began once more, because Vilkas had ignored his former attempts to apologise. Wulf knew he had messed up big time, but "It's not my fault the idiot decided to tumble down the cliff!", he cried in a mix of indignation and distress.

"Of course it's your fault", Vilkas bit back "You pushed him!"

That wasn't true. It wasn't entirely wrong either, though. "I slipped", Wulf replied in a voice tight with anger "and I grabbed the first thing..."

But Vilkas did not let him finish "And you just happened to drag him over the edge, yes?", the big warrior retorted acridly.

"YES!", Wulf bellowed back, startling his horse enough for it to fall into a quick trot, and he yanked on the reins in annoyance. He'd had enough of the Companion's shitty attitude. Vilkas had been right there, he knew Wulf wasn't lying. "What is your bloody problem?!", he bellowed and when the big warrior did not open me muttered dismally "Next time I'll throw down myself and you'll be rid of my _stupidity_."

He never saw Vilkas blanch at the words, but the Companion collected himself quickly and only cooly asked him "What are we going to tell our client?"

"The truth", Wulf suggested. "His hirelings had decided to deal with him before we arrived. The end."

Vilkas narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "You mean lie to them?"

"Ermm", Wulf began. "Yes", he drew out the word like he was talking to an imbecile. "It's not like they'll ever find out, or try to call the Companions out."

They reached the stables and both men threw their reins at the stable master, whose eyes darted from one warrior to the other, before he decided he was better off with the horses. On their way to the mead hall the crowd parted for the arguing pair, some giving them a wide berth and throwing anxious glances in their way.

"Your asinine ideas..." Vilkas could not even finish, he was so much besides himself. Now the whelp wanted him to lie about the other man's shortcomings. "The honour of the Companions...", he growled, with a shake of his head.

The Companion kicked open the doors to Jorrvaskr and tossed the axe he had recovered at a very surprised and alarmed Torvar with a curt "Here's the axe." He pointed at Wulf and followed it up with "Ask the whelp if you want to know about the noble's son", and stormed down the stairs.

Wulfryk felt all eyes on him, knowing they had made an entrance like a raging hurricane. "One of his hired thugs threw him off a cliff", he said curtly and hurried after Vilkas. He wasn't done with the man, not by a long shot.

"The honour of the Companions has not been besmirched by one idiot thief falling off the cliff", Wulf shouted after Vilkas, who came to a sudden stop.

"What if they find out?"

"So, what if they find out?", Wulf cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "Tell me, Vilkas, what are they going to do? Refuse payment and risk a visit from one of us?" Divines, he was dealing with one pig-headed mule. "Would you shut up and listen?", he began, forcing his voice down.

"No". Vilkas wasn't willing to listen. He wanted nothing but to be alone with a door between himself and the rest of the world. The last time he had had a full night's sleep had been after the dragon attack and more than a week had passed since then. He was running on his last reserves, his mind and emotions all messed up. What he really needed was to hunt, but he would not give in to the desires of the beast in him. Not _this_ beast. He would settle for distance from Wulfryk, before he did something stupid or drastic. If he had to insult the man to get his peace, he would do so, but the whelp showed no sign of going away. He saw Wulf pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't you have any fancy spell for that?", Vilkas sneered.

"Indeed I do", Wulf retorted, "But since it's permanent, I'd watch out if I were you."

By now their argument had spiralled downwards, anger and aggravation taking over until they were one step from name-calling. Wulf was livid, Vilkas upset. Suddenly Wulfryk decided he very much wanted to keep up the fight. The short battle in the mountains had not been enough. "Seriously, you have a stick up your arse bigger than that sword of yours", he spat.

"Will you shut up and leave me alone?", Vilkas bellowed and there might have been a note of desperation in his voice. The man was driving him absolutely insane. He had hoped to escape to the sanctuary of his room, but there was no place where he could escape his feelings. And now the whelp had followed him like a ...a whelp. Gods, he wanted to punch him for being a nuisance and a reckless idiot, for dragging down the name of the Companions and endangering Vilkas' own honour. He wanted to hold him close, because it had almost been Wulf tumbling down that cliff and the very thought made Vilkas' chest clench like a vice.

It was a reasonable request, but Wulfryk had never been one to listen to reason, especially not now that the other man had managed to get his blood boiling. Instead he kept on "You really need to get laid."

"And you're the one to volunteer?"

"If you ask nicely", Wulf answered sweetly. What he needed was a good brawl. He felt his blood soar with the fight to come and a grin form on his face. He was expecting for his face to make a closer acquaintance with Vilkas' fist and he braced himself when Vilkas finally lost it, the warrior's entire weight slamming into him and knocking him against the wall, much like on the first day they had met. Only back then the big warrior's hand wasn't fisting in Wulf's hair, and his pale eyes had lacked the predatory look they now had. Oops. Wulf might have misjudged the situation, after all.

There it was. All the invitation Vilkas needed. "Gods, you drive me crazy", the Companion growled and before Wulf could think of a clever retort like 'mate, you've been there long before I showed up', he silenced the other man in the most effective way: by sealing his lips to Wulfryk's.

Wulf might have been aiming to provoke, but he wasn't prepared for what followed and their teeth clicked together; the kiss was pure passion and pent-up frustration on Vilkas' side, and it lacked both grace and gentleness. And then, a heartbeat later Wulfryk was responding, because Vilkas was now biting his lower lip and Wulf, not to be outdone, gave as good as he got.

All the tension between them needed a release and they would find it in fighting or fucking and Wulf was no longer sure which was about to follow. Wrapping one hand around the other man's neck, he pulled big warrior closer and deepening their kiss he let their tongues slide against each other, feeling Vilkas' warm saliva on his lips, and their noses bump. The scrape of stubble and teeth led an edge to their actions, a sharp contrast to pliable lips and the soft sounds that were torn from both of them. Wulf's other hand trailed down Vilkas' body, but they were still wearing armour and he could not get past the barrier of cold steel that separated them.

The Companion's breastplate was digging into his chest, almost painfully so and Wulf pushed away from the wall and, without breaking their kiss, he began to back away in the direction of Vilkas' room. The warrior followed eagerly, not letting off for one heartbeat, his fingers tugging at the straps of Wulfryk's armour.

If anyone went downstairs, after them, they would get an eyeful. Wulf's amused chuckle made Vilkas growl "Get that armour off, whelp!" Divines, he wanted, no, he needed to touch the man.

He could smell the arousal pouring off the other man and his head was spinning from their closeness, or maybe it was from the lack of air. It really had been too long, since someone had held him thus; had tangled fingers into his hair; breathed into him. The fact that it was Wulf made any self control Vilkas might have had waver precariously.

When they broke apart at last, both men were breathing heavily.

"If you call me 'whelp' one more time...", Wulf did not finish the threat. He knew both of them were one heartbeat away from drawing their weapons and having at each other.

Vilkas did not answer, but reached past Wulfryk's head and pushed open the door to his room. It was dark inside, but through the lust that fogged his mind, the only thing he could see anyway was the man before him, his dark scowl and bruised lips. The Companion navigated them inside, past his wardrobe and armour stand, his hands undoing his own straps now. Vilkas was a very tidy person, but today he let his armour clatter to the ground in a heap, not caring in the least.

Wulf watched avidly as the breastplate came off. Vilkas was a dark silhouette against the weak backlighting of the corridor. Not content to just observe, he moved close, mouthing at the warrior's neck for a while. He could feel that the shirt and padding the Companion wore were soaked, but Vilkas smelled and tasted of fresh sweat. Wulf grasped the hem of his clothes and when Vilkas lifted his arms, he pulled them over the Nord's head and both could hear seams rip.

Vilkas shook his head, his usually neat, combed hair was a tangled mess and in his stubbled face his eyes were wild. He did not look at all like the reserved, distant man he usually was, more like a wild animal.

And just like a hunter cornering its prey, he closed in, removing Wulf's armour, until his mouth could close on the Nord's shoulder. He licked at first and then he kissed and finally bit the muscle, feeling the shudder that passed through the other's body and repeating the action with more force. Apparently, Wulfryk liked it rough and Vilkas groaned, because if so, he wouldn't have to hold back, not this time.

Wulf's hands had settled on the Companion's hips and he pulled their groins together, thrusting forward and through the fabric of their pants, they could feel each other's erections. The warrior yanked lightly on Vilkas' tresses, pulling the man's mouth off his shoulder where he could now feel saliva cooling and a deep ache set in.

Vilkas could see the imprint of his teeth on Wulf's flesh, although there was no other mark; Wulfryk's dark skin did not bruise easily. The man in question kicked the door shut and it took only a few heartbeats until they were both completely naked and lying down on the bed, closely entwined. They let their hands roam and explore each other's bodies as they rocked together gently. Vilkas' mouth had sought out Wulf's once more and he tried to roll on top of the smaller Nord, but the other had wrapped his leg around the Companion's hips and after a short tussle they ended up with Vilkas lying on his back, supported by a pillow and Wulfryk on top, straddling him.

They began to move together, slowly at first, then faster, using their hands to bring pleasure to each other. Wulf felt the other man rub his cock against his ass and it was quite obvious what the Companion wanted, especially when he turned away, threw open the drawer of his nightstand and began to rummage around in it with one hand, as the other was working Wulf's manhood.

Vilkas cursed under his breath when he could not find what he was looking for in the darkness, but suddenly the room was illuminated by a tiny flame that Wulfryk held in his palm. He was looking overtly as Vilkas pulled out and opened a muscle salve he usually used for its intended purpose.

Before Vilkas could apply any of it, Wulf leaned forward and, resting his arms on the warrior's shoulders, he effectively pinned the bigger man beneath him. He bent low, licking the Companion's jaw and tugging at his earlobe with his teeth, before he whispered in his ear in a deep voice that sent shivers down Vilkas' spine "If you want to fuck me, Vilkas, you better make me want it."

Vilkas swallowed thickly, the words sending all blood straight to his groin. "You're going to leave that on?", he asked, nodding in the direction of the small, flickering light that hovered in the air.

"Yeah", Wulf answered. "I want to watch." He ran his fingertips lightly over Vilkas' lips, grinning naughtily in anticipation.

Vilkas dipped his head, the other man's scrutiny made his cheeks flare, but he knew that the bedroom was not a place for pride. Sex was about losing control, not keeping it; and about pleasure. His own and almost more importantly, his partner's. Vilkas let himself sink lower, until Wulf was kneeling above his chest and, supporting himself on his elbows, he leaned forward, nuzzling the inside of Wulfryk's thigh. He felt the muscles clench and flutter under the feather light touch of his lips, heard the other man's sharp hiss.

But Vilkas did not tease for long, turning his attention to Wulf's neglected manhood instead. He licked at first and then he took the length of it into his mouth, sucking lightly and able to taste salty skin and bitter fluid. The sounds Wulfryk made alone were worth it Vilkas breathed in the intense, musky smell, losing himself in the simple action of dealing out bliss.

He went at it for a while and when his own desire became too prominent to ignore, he dipped his fingers into the salve, his intention to prepare the other man for the intrusion to come. Vilkas wanted to be tender now, because he wouldn't be afterwards, but Wulf encouraged him to go harder, to push his fingers deeper and to add another one, not shy to voice his desires.

It did not take long until neither could wait anymore and Vilkas quickly greased himself up, pulled off Wulf's cock and wriggled back into a position that allowed them to line up. Wulf sank down slowly and they both moaned when their bodies joined and Vilkas' eyes closed of their own accord.

He was lying back, enjoying the friction and the heat, until Wulf began to move leisurely and his own hips buckled in answer.

The Companion's mouth fell open and his head back and Wulf leaned forward to run his teeth along the column of his throat, drawing a deep moan from the warrior, before righting himself once more. Vilkas' hands on his hips guided him, showing him what felt good to the Companion. He rose slowly and sank down faster, rotating his hips in a circular motion from time to time, because it felt good and made Vilkas' breath stutter.

Their pace quickened, Vilkas' hips slamming upwards, keeping in rhythm with Wulf's own movement. The big warrior's hands clenched around his hips, but they were now slick with sweat and in an attempt to find purchase the Companion's short nails raked across Wulf's skin, adding to the multitude of sensations. The wet sounds of their bodies slapping together were almost obscene in the silence of the room, only accompanied by their harsh breathing and the occasional moan.

Wulf could not suppress a hoarse shout when Vilkas got the angle just right, knowing that others were probably able to hear them fucking and not giving a damn. He scratched the Companion's chest and was rewarded with another hard thrust.

Vilkas watched sweat drip from Wulf's hair and run down his chest, the beads of moisture collecting where they connected. Wulfryk's head fell forward, his eyes hooded and glazed with ecstasy and Vilkas tried to repeat the motion that had made the other man cry out. He was rewarded when his lover began to tense up, clenching down on him and with a start the Companion realized that he himself was only heartbeats from toppling over the edge himself. There was only one thing he lacked and with some effort he pushed himself up, and Wulf down, smashing their mouths together. When Wulfryk's struck his tongue down Vilkas' throat, all the big warrior could do was hang on as his orgasm washed over him. Distantly he felt his lover spasm around him, the tightness drawing out and intensifying his pleasure, as much the smell and feeling of Wulf's own seed spilling between them.

'They were surprisingly well timed', was the only coherent thought Vilkas managed, when white specks no longer danced in front of his eyes, closely followed by 'When had their fingers intertwined?'

Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed the Companion and he let himself fall back against the pillows, one arm thrown across his face, chest heaving. He often had been afraid to hurt his partners, to lose control, but with Wulf he had not cared and it had turned out to be the best sex he had had in...a very long time. Vilkas sighed when his softening cock left the heat of his lover's body, slipping out with a soft, wet sound.

He would have been content to sleep, but movement next to him ripped him out of his post-coital bliss. Vilkas blinked open one eye and he saw that Wulf was now sitting up, sorting through his clothing and quite obviously preparing to dress and leave.

Vilkas was not expecting the sudden feeling of loss. It hit him like a charging horse, usually he was content to be on his own, but he did not want to be alone now, did not want Wulf to leave, not after what they had shared.

It took a great deal of effort for him to lift his arm and stretch it out towards the man he had just done a whole lot more with than just held hands. It was absurd, really, to fear rejection at this point.

When Vilkas ran his fingers gently across the back of Wulf's hand, the other Nord looked up and Vilkas was taken aback by his face that utterly lacked emotion. He should ask, but his damned pride was in his way again, so instead Vilkas tugged on Wulf's hand, hoping the Nord would understand.

He thought he could see something shift behind Wulf's eyes, and so he tugged once more, insistently this time. Wulf complied with his unvoiced plea and though the cold mask had fallen away, the look on his face was still guarded as he let himself tilt slowly and sank down next to Vilkas. They did not look at each other, maybe because that way they would not have to acknowledge whom they were sharing the bed with.

Sex was easy. It happened in the heat of the moment, it was fever and passion and sometimes even violent, but to rest together there had to be a level of trust their...relationship...lacked. Vilkas still did not know where they stood. Now, more than ever, things would get complicated. In the aftermath of their heated coupling, however, he was not willing to face what would slap him in the face tomorrow morning, once they had sobered up and lust no longer fogged their minds. But for one night, the Companion wanted to enjoy what they had.

Vilkas shifted, pulling Wulf closer and the smaller Nord tucked his head under Vilkas' chin and the Companion could feel his warm breath against his chest. The little magical light of his had gone out a while ago, plunging the room back into darkness and now Wulf's fingers twitched at the warrior's side and the other man's breathing had already taken on the deep, slow rhythm of sleep.

Vilkas buried his nose in Wulf's hair. He smelled of sweat and the musk of sex, and something Vilkas could not place. Something that was entirely Wulfryk. It was dangerous. It was intoxicating. Vilkas' eyelids grew too heavy for him to keep open and so he let them close, yawning widely. His last thought before sleep claimed him was how their bodies fit together surprisingly well.

* * *

**AN**: Whew, what a rollercoaster of emotions! Well,...I really, really hope you enjoyed this chapter! =)

I replayed the Companions' questline and it was a real shock that when asked what it means to be a Companion, Vilkas replies he's in for the coin, honour and glory be damned. I couldn't write him like that, however, as it absolutely does not fit my headcanon.

I usually show the change between voices by using double spacing, but FF autocorrects it and other possible symbols away. It annoys me and now I don't even bother to find alternatives anymore. But I don't think that following the narrative is very difficult, so I'll just leave the way it is now.


	14. Chapter 13

Farkas nervously paced up and down in front of the closed door. The Circle meeting should have begun hours ago, but not all members were accounted for as of yet. So he had been sent by Kodlak to get his brother, because Vilkas handled most of the clients, dealt out assignments and was responsible for the logbooks. The Harbinger had gradually begun to pass on his duties to his brother, but Vilkas must have forgotten about the meeting, something that had not happened before.

And now Farkas was staring at the damned door, debating what he should do. He had tried knocking – twice - , but he had received no answer and was running out of ideas. Usually, he wouldn't think twice about entering his brother's room, but after yesterday's events, he was hesitating to do so. It was one thing to know what was going on behind closed doors and quite another to walk in on it, especially when one of the participants was your twin.

For now things were quiet, unlike on the evening before, when he had heard shouting and stuck his head out of his room to see what was going on, because one of the voices undoubtedly belonged to his brother. So he and Wulf had returned and both seemed unharmed, judging by their eagerness to pick another fight. Farkas had been about to step out and break up the argument, when Vilkas and Wulfryk began to make out quite passionately, right there, in the corridor.

Farkas smiled. Maybe they would figure out things on their own, although it had taken them quite a lot of time so far. He resisted rolling his eyes. And people called _him_ dim-witted.

He almost retreated back into his room, but here was a commotion upstairs and a few seconds later Aela stormed down the stairs, just as the pair disappeared into Vilkas' room. But the door was exactly what the Huntress was making for, muttering darkly under her breath "Who does he think he is, treating Torvar like that?! I've had it with his moods, he's worse than a virgin on her monthlies!"

Farkas jumped into action at once and found himself in front of his brother's room, arms stretched out and blocking Aela's way.

She only cast one scalding glare at Farkas and, fighting to keep her voice level, she said "I have an axe to grind with your brother. Let me through", she demanded.

Farkas swallowed thickly. If she were any angrier, her red hair might just have caught fire. Staring back wide-eyed at the woman that did not even reach his shoulder, he could only shake his head.

"This is not the time for one of your jokes!", Aela scolded. "Let. Me. Through!"

She positively scared him. Farkas just murmured, embarrassed "You don't want to go in there."

From behind the door both could hear the clatter of armour hitting the ground.

"Why? Because they are they fighting?", she snorted. After a split-second of consideration, Aela's look turned from livid to thoughtful. "Vilkas wouldn't fight without his armour." She tilted her head to the side. "What is going on in there?", Aela suddenly asked, sounding intrigued now instead of angry.

Farkas knew his face must be bright red. "They...ermm...", he scratched his head.

"Yes?"

"They need some time alone", the Companion finished. There was another thump and something that sounded like a growl, followed by – the creak of the bed?

"Oh." Aela's eyes grew wide. "Oh." Her irritation seemed forgotten and Farkas thought it was safe for him to lower his arms and step to the side. He had been wrong. As soon as the big warrior was no longer in her way, the Huntress darted for the keyhole, pressing her face against the wood and peeking through.

"That's a nice view", she purred, grinning.

"Hey!" Farkas knew that snooping in on other people wasn't nice; he had heard enough of Tilma's lectures on the matter. So he grabbed his shield-sister by the middle, lifted her up and turning around he put her down on the other side, his body once more a shield between her and the door; ready to defend his brother's dignity. "Do you know how rude that is?"

"Oh, come on!", Aela said with a playful pout. "It's just Wulf, he wouldn't mind."

"No, but Vilkas would", Farkas countered and crossed his arms across his broad chest.

"Spoilsport", she sulked, but did not attempt to get past him again.

After he had stopped Aela from barging in, Farkas had dealt with an annoyed Torvar, an amused Athis and a very confused Ria. What an interesting evening. Farkas could honestly say that Jorrvaskr needed more of those.

Only, he wished he knew what to do in the morning. He paced back and forth once more and, bracing himself, he pushed down the handle, opening the door a crack wide and peeking in cautiously. It was dark inside, and quiet. It wasn't that bad, if one didn't mind the smell. Farkas tiptoed inside, but his effort was for naught when he stumbled across Vilkas' discarded breastplate with a loud clatter. An unhappy groan came from the direction of the bed. Farkas looked around. He really did not want to get too close, he already felt like he was intruding. So the warrior grabbed a booklet from the desk, one with a cover of soft leather and threw it at his brother's sleeping form.

It hit him square in the face and Vilkas shot up with a sharp intake of breath. Farkas did not feel any remorse. Served him right. This was retribution for the chair. "The Circle has called a meeting, remember?", he said in greeting while Vilkas blinked up at him questioningly, rubbing his eyes.

"Why now? Couldn't they wait until a decent hour?", Vilkas complained without showing any sign of getting up.

Next to him Farkas could make out Wulf stirring. "Would you two shut up?", he grumbled in a voice thick with sleep.

Farkas decided to ignore him. "It's past midday, brother", he answered instead and had the satisfaction of watching Vilkas' jaw drop. "You've overslept."

"What?", his brother gasped, and suddenly his eyes went wide and he flailed with his arms in the air as Farkas curiously watched his strange actions. Suddenly, Vilkas landed in a naked heap at Farkas' feet. The Companion saw one of Wulf's feet disappearing under the covers, before the Nord turned around with a huff off annoyance and pulled the blankets closer around himself.

From the floor, Vilkas cast a hurt look at the sleeping warrior and frowned at Farkas. "Give me a few minutes", his brother grunted and Farkas happily returned to his own room to wait. 'Mission accomplished', he thought, feeling proud of himself. Shortly later he heard Vilkas' knock and together the twins went upstairs.

Farkas looked at his brother out of the corner of his eyes. He had not shaved yet and his hair was unkempt, although he had pulled it back with a band of leather. Not his own, though. Vilkas wasn't wearing any shoes and his shirt had a tear at the side that he apparently had not noticed. But the most prominent of all changes was the ghost of a smile that played around his mouth; a small spark in his eyes; the way he held himself: loose and relaxed. This was a man Farkas had not seen in a long time. He had missed him, the brother who had once masterminded their pranks on the other Companions and who had stood guard or distracted the others while Farkas put them into action. There had been glimpses here and there, but Farkas had believed him lost a long time ago to their work, the Circle, the anger. The beastblood. But today, more than ever Vilkas resembled that man.

"Had a good night?", the taller of the twins could not help but ask.

He saw the corner of Vilkas' mouth twitch upwards, before his brother broke into a full smile. "Aye."

Farkas grinned back. It was good to see Vilkas so carefree. He never allowed himself to let go anymore, to lower his guard, even for a little while, always conscious of the consequences his actions might have. Slowly, but undeniably it was wearing him down.

Farkas loved the old man, but Kodlak should never have urged him to take on the responsibility over the Companions. Especially not after burdening him with all the talk about his soul and Sovngarde...

The big warrior was ripped out of his thoughts when they entered the back room where Vignar lived and where the Circle meetings were held. Skjor, Kodlak and Aela were already there and looked to be bored out of their minds.

Vilkas was greeted by Skjor's dark glare. "Slept well?", the elder Companion asked sarcastically, but despite the tone there was little heat behind the words, the warrior knew. He knew Skjor well enough by now to know his friend felt obligated to tease him for his lapse.

"Leave off, Skjor. Poor thing must've been worn out." Aela's grin was entirely too knowing.

Skjor just furrowed his brows, knowing he was missing out on something.

Vilkas fell into a chair and propped his feet up on another one, fully prepared to half-sleep through this meeting. Although they all helped out, the workload always became too much eventually and had to be dealt with. Together, they sorted through assignments both finished and not, assessed the trustworthiness of new clients, collected their letters and compared them to the logbooks. Massagers had to be sent out to inform their clients and payment had to be collected.

Then, there was Jorrvaskr's balance and its account that had to be managed. The Companions, as a whole were wealthy, but they also spent lots of coin on food, drink, weapons, armour, messengers and the occasional repair works that had to be done around the mead hall. Furthermore, all Companions and those who worked for them had to be paid. It meant juggling lots of numbers and random facts.

Farkas was yawning after five minutes and Vilkas found himself drifting off. He still answered any questions directed at him, but his thoughts were occupied by something else entirely. The man sleeping in his bed, mostly. Was Wulf still there? Did he want him to be? Secretly, Vilkas was glad his brother had dragged him off, in afterthought he knew that he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to behave towards the other man.

Would things change now that...that they had been intimate? Or would they go their separate ways, pretending that nothing had happened? It wouldn't be easy, considering how close they were by simply being Companions. Although Wulf wasn't, not yet. Funny, how Vilkas thought of him as he would of any other shield-brother, even though he had not yet been put to the test.

Skjor's voice made him listen up all of a sudden. "Vilkas, do you have the logbook from the first half of the year? I believe the Turgraf family still owes us money."

Vilkas reached for the table, only to remember he had forgotten to bring any of the books. "No", he answered slowly "They're still downstairs."

"Don't you want to go and get them?", Aela prompted eagerly.

"Aye", he responded, absent-mindedly, until he realized that no, he absolutely did not want to go there! Did his shield-sister just wink at him? Wait! Something was underfoot.

Whatever it was, Kodlak was oblivious to it. Instead of sending Vilkas away immediately, the Harbinger said "No need to go now, Vilkas. Let us take care of what we can without them, we'll have a break later and you can go get the books."

Vilkas breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, but his stomach cramped when Kodlak addressed the last thing he wanted to talk about: Wulfryk. Of course the others would be curious. Vilkas was fully aware that his word might decide whether Wulf even got the chance to join the Companions. With a deep breath Vilkas began to accurately recount their latest mission, aware that he was stalling.

Used to their shield-brother's thorough, analyzing nature the other Companions listened, until Kodlak ran out of patience and finally asked "Well, how did he perform?"

Aela suddenly burst out laughing and Farkas had to bite his hand to stifle his chuckles. Vilkas just leaned back, balancing the chair on its back legs and, with his head thrown back, he grinned up at the ceiling. "Quite well", he answered with a straight face when Kodlak looked at him in expectation and quite a bit of curiosity.

"Ah I see..", the Harbinger sighed and rubbed his eyes at Farkas' and Aela's sniggering.

"I feel left out", Skjor complained and Aela leaned over to whisper in his ear and bring him up to date. He listened alertly and nodded, but suddenly his eyes went wide and he stared at Vilkas and burst out "You did WHAT?!"

Vilkas did not deign to answer; Skjor knew full well _what_. However, the Companion's disbelief quickly turned to suspicion. "About the whelp making a suitable shield-brother; are you sure it's your head talking and not your dick?"

The anger that suddenly coursed through Vilkas' blood was so much more familiar than this state of ease he had found himself in since morning. He let his chair fall back on all four legs with a loud thump to empathise his following words. "The 'whelp' has a name", he growled. "And to keep his fellow Companion from harm he challenged and fought off a _dragon_!", he added in a low voice. "Can you deny his bravery, Skjor? His loyalty?"

Skjor couldn't and he didn't, which did nothing to change the fact that Vilkas probably didn't have his head screwed on right. He might have laughed at the pun, if the big warrior wasn't staring at him, daring him to speak up against the whelp. Skjor lifted his hands in surrender. The radical change in Vilkas' attitude was unexpected, but then he had had a lot of time to get to know their newblood better. "I trust your judgement, Vilkas and I will respect your choice", he placated the angry Nord. "If you trust Wulfryk and are of opinion he would make a suitable Companion, then he is also a shield-brother of mine and I will not speak ill of him."

Vilkas nodded, appeased. The irritation had abided. How could he blame Skjor when he himself had hated and doubted Wulf for so long?

Farkas let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. It looked like Wulf was a touchy subject for his brother, if he had almost started an argument on behalf of him. When they voted at last, Farkas cast his voice in favour of his friend being allowed to take the test.

They continued for a while, until Farkas heard his stomach growl; it was high time for a meal.

Kodlak must have heard, or maybe he knew them so well he dismissed them with a faint smile and the words "It seems, a break is in order."

Vilkas ate, he talked to the other Companions and when he no longer could find any excuses he slowly went to his room. His heart was pounding by the time he reached the door. He berated himself for being this nervous and quickly, and with more force than necessary, he entered and walked up to the desk. Only, it was occupied.

His room was Vilkas' sanctuary, a place for him to retreat from the rest of the world, but now that he had let someone in, the Nord felt caged. "You're still here?", he asked, surprised. It had been several hours since he had left. He cast a glance to the bed which was messy and unmade.

Wulf looked dishevelled, like he had just gotten up and except for his loincloth he was also naked. He had been leafing through the very book Vilkas had been about to retrieve, but now he looked up, yawned and nodded. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

The good mood Vilkas had felt since he had woken up evaporated within the blink of an eye. "Sorry it was so bad for you", he replied cooly.

"It wasn't nice, but you certainly got it worse", Wulfryk admitted with an apologetic smile.

They weren't making any sense. Carefully, Vilkas enquired "What are you talking about?"

"Me being an idiot on our mission, of course", Wulf replied like it was obvious. "What are _you_ talking about?"

"Erm...nothing", Vilkas muttered. Damn, but this was awkward. Was he supposed to say something more? Instead, Vilkas busied himself rummaging about in a cabinet above the desk and pulled out a bottle of mead that he put in front of Wulf. "Here. Somebody once told me it's supposed to make you feel better." Hopefully it would distract the other man from him.

Wulf raised his eyebrows when he heard Vilkas use his own words. "Clever bastard, that one. You should listen to him more often", he supplied with a smirk and tipped his head back and raised the bottle to his lips.

Vilkas snorted, but his attention was diverted by the way Wulf's throat moved as he drank the mead. He swallowed thickly and had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out towards the other man. Gods, how he wanted to! To run his fingers along his bare skin, knowing it would be warm and smooth, dusted with hair at the chest and one or another scar. He wanted to hold him, kiss him maybe. Of all the things they had done yesterday that had been one Vilkas had enjoyed immensely; Wulfryk kissed like he meant it. But there was no sign that today he wanted anything more than a friendly chat.

'Pull yourself together, fool', Vilkas thought and grabbed the logbook he had come for, ready to make his escape. He should warn Wulf ahead, though. "You should get ready", the Companion spoke up. "There's another task that awaits the Companions."

Hearing the words, Wulf smiled up at him. "When do we leave?"

Did he – did he want to journey with Vilkas again? It had been uncomfortable as hell at first and at the end, but admittedly, they had had a good time together most of the time. Vilkas would be happy to have Wulf along on another adventure. Only, it wouldn't be this one. "You're not going with me", the Companion said, trying hard to mask his regret. "The Circle thought my judgement might be biased, because of what has happened between us. Farkas has agreed to be your shield-brother."

"All right", Wulf replied guardedly and Vilkas was pleased to detect a slight trace of disappointment in his voice.

Ysgramor's hairy jewels, Vilkas needed to get out of here before he lost his mind completely and did something he'd regret later. Like beg the Circle to reconsider their choice and let him go with Wulf. He tried hard not to think what it would be like, just the two of them on the road again and failed miserably. He had to get this over with, and quick.

"Go to Vignar's room, the Circle is waiting for you. And put on some clothes!", he added with a vague hand motion at the other man, before he fled upstairs. Not that _he_ minded Wulf's state of undress; it was most pleasing to the eye, but Aela might like it a bit too much.

He shouldn't have worried, when Wulf joined the meeting some time later, he looked more respectable than Vilkas did. It wasn't the big warrior that greeted him though, but Skjor. "Last week a scholar came to us", he began without preamble. "He said he knew where we could find another piece of Wuuthrad. I trust you know what it is."

"Ysgramor's axe", Wulf replied. Ria had told him all about the Companions and the hero who had started the them, as well as his legendary weapon.

Skjor nodded once, satisfied and continued. "He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, the honour of the Companions demands that we seek it out. This is a simple errand, but the time is right for it to be your trial. Carry yourself with honour and you'll become a true Companion."

Wulf grinned broadly; Vilkas hadn't mentioned that he was finally being given the chance to join the Companions. At least he got along with Farkas all of the time. The warrior in question waved at him happily. Vilkas wouldn't meet his eyes, but Aela seemed unable to look away and Skjor's and Kodlak's expressions were hard to read.

After a pause for effect, Skjor resumed. "Farkas will be your shield-brother on this venture and he'll answer any questions you have after the meeting is over. Try not to disappoint. Or get him killed", he added with a sideways glance at the man's twin.

"I'll see you later, Wulf", Farkas called after him when Wulf turned to leave, knowing he was being dismissed.

Behind him, Skjor's voice rang out once more "Did you remember to get the logbook, Vilkas?" Through the closed door Wulf heard the smack of something hard and a surprised shout, followed by the sound of a chair toppling over.

xxxx

The rest of the meeting was as boring as ever, although at least Vilkas did not have to put up with Skjor's teasing anymore, after he shot him down. After all, he and Aela encouraged him to let out the beast at times and Vilkas did not even feel sorry for the gross abuse of a valuable book.

It was towards the end of the end of the meeting that he became increasingly uneasy. When they finally broke up late at night, Vilkas' feet carried him down and through the corridor of their own accord. It wasn't his own door he ended up in front of, but Farkas'. With a sigh Vilkas raised his hand and knocked.

"Yes?", Farkas' deep voice rang out.

"A word, brother", Vilkas replied.

The door opened at once and Farkas stepped out, looking like he was ready to leave. "I wanted to visit Wulf, tell him about the trial", the warrior explained.

"Before you do that, could I talk to you?", Vilkas insisted.

His brother shrugged and motioned for him to enter his room. Vilkas did and wrinkled his nose immediately. Farkas' room was the picture of what Vilkas imagined Oblivion must be like. All chaos, clothes and weapons strewn around, empty bottles lying in the corner and on a silver tray on the nightstand there was a pile of stale sweetrolls that his brother must have pilfered from the kitchen. Farkas really knew how to let himself go, but in this mess he was as happy as a pig wallowing in mud. It was no wonder this room attracted more spiders then the rest of Jorrvaskr. And it was Vilkas' duty to get rid of them.

He should light a fire under his brother's rear and make him clean up to spare Tilma the horrors of this room, but that was not why Vilkas was here tonight.

"What do you know about Dustman's Cairn?"

"It's just an old tomb", Farkas answered negligently, his attention on the stack of sweets. He took one roll, bit into it and through a mouthful he said "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Listen", Vilkas urged "I want you to be alert; don't do anything stupid or reckless. And for heaven's sake, watch your back!"

"I'll have Wulf to watch my back", Farkas countered.

"Don't rely on it." Vilkas tone was serious, brooking no argument.

Farkas felt himself bristle at the insinuation. "Is this about Wulf again?", he wanted to know, annoyed that his brother would bring up that topic again. "I thought you trusted him after what he did for you."

"It's not about Wulf", Vilkas sighed.

"Good. He's my friend." And Farkas would protect him, although, if he wasn't what had Vilkas upset, then what did? Ah, of course! He was leaving and Vilkas was not going with him. That must be it.

Vilkas continued, unknowing that Farkas had looked through him. "He's not as nice as you believe him to be! Do you even know why he calls you 'Bright'?", his brother prompted.

"Wulf says it's because I'm cheerful", Farkas explained, indulgingly. "That's why you are 'Grumpy'."

Vilkas ran a hand over his face. Sometimes his brother could be so blind. "He calls you 'Bright', because he believes you're too stupid to get the joke", he forced out.

"What joke?" Farkas sounded hurt.

Vilkas had to resist the sudden urge to slam his head against the wall in frustration. Wulf had chosen a fitting nickname, he had to admit. "Never mind", he said, shaking his head. "Just be careful, yes?"

But it seemed Farkas had already forgotten that train of conversation and complained "Why is it always me who has to 'be careful'?" "Why don't I ever get to lecture you?", he whined.

"You know I'm the elder", Vilkas replied calmly.

"Only by minutes, brother", Farkas reminded his twin.

"That still counts", Vilkas responded and ruffled his brother's hair. Farkas was the only family he had. Kodlak was like a father to them and Tilma had practically raised them, but the bond they shared was special. He honestly did not know how he would go on if something happened to his twin.

"Promise me you'll be careful", he once more whispered against Farkas' temple, after he kissed his brother's brow in a rare gesture of affection. It wasn't what he wanted to say, but he knew he could not ask for more.

"I will, you have my word", Farkas whispered, because he knew that in their profession the one thing neither of them could ever promise was to come back.

* * *

**AN**: Some brotherly love for you =)


	15. Chapter 14

I thought I would have this chapter finished by Friday (haha, I just wrote fredas and had to correct it), but I got swamped by work.

* * *

"Hello, Bright. So I've heard that you're going to be my shield-brother." Wulf yawned and stretched, in no hurry to get up even after Farkas had robbed him of his covers and pillow. It was still too darn early and he had just returned from one mission, he should be allowed to have some time to rest. But Farkas looked about ready to begin poking him with that huge sword of his and with a heavy sigh to show everyone how much he was suffering, he rolled out of bed.

"Satisfied? I'm not going anywhere without a proper breakfast", Wulf grumbled and shuffled to a water basin to wash himself.

Farkas firmly believed he was dragging his feet on purpose, to punish him for the gross transgression of waking him up.

"Breakfast's upstairs", the big warrior said, tapping his foot impatiently. At this rate they wouldn't leave before midday, but he hadn't anticipated the difficulties of getting a cranky and tired Wulf to leave the bed. In comparison, retrieving the fragment of Wuuthrad would be easy.

As professional as Wulfryk was when he was working, he was a total slob in his free time.

Against Farkas' expectations, they did set out shortly after. The big warrior mounted a veritable giant of a horse, a heavily muscled brown with long, sleek legs and a curtain of white hair at the fetlock. The horse stood taller at the withers than Wulf and it carried Farkas, his armour and belongings with ease. Wulf's own mount looked almost fragile in comparison, which didn't stop it in the least from tossing its head and trying to pick a fight. It reconsidered after the big gelding snapped its teeth in warning and settled for sullenly laying back its ears.

"Tell me, Bright, where is it we're going, exactly?", Wulf enquired after they had ridden for a few minutes in silence.

"Dustman's Cairn", Farkas replied right away.

Dustman? The word rang some bells with Wulf. Where had he heard that expression before? The memory came back, slowly. A dark corridor he crouched in, Ralof at his side. A man with a thick beard. Soling. And a woman that stood with her hand on the bandit's shoulder. Her words flittered through Wulf's consciousness. _"There's nothing left here for us, only dustmen to fight."_

They were heading for another bloody tomb, probably full of the undead. Joy of joys. Wulf groaned inwardly.

If Farkas noticed his companion's distress, he showed no sign of it. Blithely, he continued "It's an ancient Nord tomb, four days' ride from here, maybe five."

"And you know a piece of Wuuthrad is there because a scholar came and told you?", Wulf asked in disbelief. "Who was this scholar?"

"A smart man", Farkas answered with a smile in his voice. "It is no secret that the Companions seek to restore Ysgramor's weapon. We offer rewards for information and many come to help, through most leads turn out to be a waste of time. This one though looked promising, so Skjor thinks you should follow it, and I'm supposed to watch you."

Wulf thought maybe Skjor just wanted for him to get lost, but kept that opinion to himself. "If you say so, Bright."

They rode on and after a while Farkas cleared his throat to get Wulf's attention. "So, you and my brother..." The big warrior let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

It didn't matter, as Wulf had a fairly good idea where this was going anyways.

"I told you he liked you", Farkas threw in before Wulf could say anything.

Not that this was a topic he wanted to discuss. Not with Vilkas' brother, even if Farkas was his friend. _Especially_ because they were friends. It just didn't feel right.

"How do you know?" The question was out of Wulf's mouth before he had a chance to reconsider. "You didn't listen at the door, did you?"

Farkas glowered at him in answer. "I didn't have to", the big warrior replied. "Our rooms are next to each other and you didn't exactly keep quiet."

Oh, Gods! That was one more detail Wulf would have been happy to be ignorant about. It was high time to change the subject, but apparently Farkas didn't see it that way, asking the one question that almost made Wulf fall out of the saddle when he rapidly turned to face the speaker.

"Are you lovers now?"

"What!?" Wulf heard his voice rise in panic. "Heavens, no! There's nothing between us; it was just a quick roll in the sheets!", he clarified. "No reason to bring feelings into this", he muttered silently enough Farkas' ears shouldn't have been able to pick up those last words.

The big warrior gave no clue to have heard, indeed there was no reaction from him at all as he stared straight ahead. With the life he led, he was the last person who would begrudge somebody a quick romp, but this was his brother they were talking about and somehow that changed things.

Wulf would have breathed a sigh of relief that the questioning was over, except that he could feel disapproval radiating from Farkas' still form. In the uncomfortable silence that followed he listened to the muted clap of his horses' hooves, until his friend spoke up once more.

"He wasn't always like that, you know?"

Wulf looked up, but did not comment, curious as to where this was going. It was obvious whom Farkas was talking about and he had to admit he was interested in hearing about Vilkas' past. The warrior was close-mouthed about anything private, but in contrast the man riding next to Wulf was a willing source of information that Wulfryk could exploit.

Only to help him understand Vilkas better, although Wulf knew that it was merely an excuse for him to pry into things that were none of his business. If Grumpy wanted to keep things to himself he had every right to do so. Too bad the man wasn't here and that Wulf didn't give a damn about respecting other people's privacy.

Farkas took his silence as an encouragement to carry on. "When we were little, we used to get into all sorts of trouble", the warrior said with a smile and a faraway look. "I was happy to watch the warriors train all day long. I always imagined I would be one of them someday. But Vilkas, he would get bored easily. And when he did, he usually thought of a prank we could play on the Companions." Farkas' grin was full of mischief and Wulf could easily see the young rascal in him, though he had some trouble imagining the man's solemn twin doing something against the rules.

Both riders were silent for a short while as they turned their horses on the main road that would lead them to the Western Watchtower, past farms and fields, leaving behind in the distance the city of Whiterun.

Happy to have found an avid listener to one of his favourite stories from their childhood, Farkas soon continued. "He was always so serious; nobody ever suspected anything when he talked to somebody to distract them, while I tied their shoes together." It had always been hilarious to watch the mighty warriors hop around, waving their arms frantically so they wouldn't lose balance. "Once we broke into the pantry, stole some oil and greased up all the hilts of the practice swords in the courtyard." Because even back then they had known that the real weapons of the warriors were strictly off-limits. Besides, the adventure had been sneaking around in the dark and getting past a sleeping Tilma.

"Another time we mixed up the herbs in the kitchen and ended up making all the Companions sick for two days. Word got out and the city couriers began to cry that the warriors of Jorrvaskr carried the plague."

Farkas laughed at the memory and Wulf joined in. It almost sounded too funny to be true, but he didn't think the big warrior was making things up just for the sake of telling a story. He wasn't Wulf, after all.

What Farkas did not mention was how his brother had always stood up in his defence when they were caught. No matter that he was the smaller and weaker one; no one ever got to touch Farkas. Thinking back to their conversation of the evening before, the Companion realized that this was one thing that had never changed. Vilkas was as protective of his 'little' brother, as ever. The knowledge was a comfort, even now that he was a grown man and could look after himself.

"Askar, he was the Harbinger before Kodlak", Farkas explained for his friend's sake, "He finally decided he'd had enough and that we should start studying to keep us out of trouble." The big warrior made a face. "Vilkas loved it, having found something he excelled at. Things got interesting when one day we found a chest with scrolls in it in the Harbinger's room. Vilkas wanted to practice his writing and, well, parchment was rare. So we took a few of the scrolls, there were many more and we thought nobody would miss a few."

"What happened?", Wulf prompted.

Farkas sighed heavily. "As it turned out, the things were magical scrolls."

"Outsch", Wulf threw in.

"Yeah", the big warrior chuckled. "One was enchanted with a spell of mayhem." He heard his friend's sharp intake of breath. They had been darn lucky that day and in retrospect this story was a funny one only because in the end nothing bad had happened. "I've never seen a brawl bigger than the one that followed after one of the Companions found the scroll, read Vilkas' text and accidentally triggered the spell. Thankfully, somebody else stumbled across another scroll a short time later and it put everyone to sleep before anybody was harmed seriously."

Wulf laughed out loud, shaking his head in disbelief.

But Farkas wasn't done with his recounting of times past. "Things changed when we got older. When we began to understand who the Companions really were and what they stood for. Everybody always said I would make an excellent warrior, but nobody ever thought Vilkas would make it into the Companions. He was very ill, you know?", Farkas asked. "Before we were taken to Jorrvaskr, he'd almost died. But my brother is a fighter", Farkas said with a great deal of pride in his voice. "He pulled through but was left with a bad cough whenever he did anything strenuous."

It sounded so harmless now. Wulf had no idea how awful it had been, watching his brother break down, wheezing for air. Farkas had held his twin, utterly helpless save for praying for the spell to pass. Most warriors of Jorrvaskr thought Vilkas would be better off as a scholar, especially since books had been his passion since he had begun to read. Farkas knew better, though. And if Vilkas didn't become a Companion, he wouldn't be allowed to stay at the mead hall. Joining the order of warriors had been Farkas' greatest – and only – wish, but he would have given it up for his brother's sake. Only, the twins hatched a better plan.

"We began to train in secret – well, Jurgen helped and later Kodlak did as well. At first Vilkas got worse- much worse and we thought we would have to stop forever. But then he began to get better, a little at a time until by the time he was ten years old he was almost never out of breath, only when he was tired and upset."

The beastblood had taken the rest of the illness, but that was a secret Farkas wasn't willing to share, not even with Wulf. There was something else his friend needed to know, though. "Vilkas worked ten times harder to become a Companion than anyone I know. He firmly believes it is a privilege to be earned and not something to be granted to anybody, even if that person is a capable warrior."

Wulf nodded his understanding. It was a reasonable explanation for why the Nord had reacted the way he had done when they had first met. Wulf had only knocked on the door and been let in, when Vilkas himself had worked for years to achieve the same goal. It had to be terribly frustrating and Wulfryk had to agree with him in one point. It was an honour to join the Companions, not a matter of course.

Something else nagged on his mind, though. Something Farkas had mentioned. "Vilkas said you don't remember a time before the Companions."

Farkas furrowed his brows, unsure what his brother had told his friend. "That's not true", he began hesitatingly. "Although Vilkas thinks I don't remember. It makes him happy, so I let him believe it."

"Why?" Wulf didn't understand how that could help anyone.

"When our parents died, we were both scared and sad; we were just pups after all. I grieved them, but I did not carry their deaths with me the way Vilkas did. After a while I just got tired of it all. So I pretended to not remember. I guess I never stopped." In total, the twins had been fortunate, although fate dealt them another stroke not much later. "Then Jurgen, who was like a father to us, left to fight in the Great War and never came back. I don't think Vilkas ever forgave him for leaving." Farkas sighed heavily. "And now Kodlak is dying."

Wulf looked sharply at the big Nord riding beside him, when he heard that particular news. "I didn't know..." He wasn't sure what else he could say.

Farkas nodded his head sadly. "It's true. That's why he's been training Vilkas to become the new Harbinger."

"That's a lot of responsibility", Wulf added softly. Now he knew what Vilkas had meant when he had mentioned that he wouldn't be able to leave the Companions. So many things were making sense all of a sudden.

Farkas had to agree. "My brother is under a lot of pressure. He already manages most of the tasks himself though Skjor, bless his heart, helps wherever he can."

Farkas and Aela did too, but more often than not their efforts created additional work. They did any jobs assigned to them and otherwise they tried not to get in the way of the other members if the Circle.

When Farkas was done talking, both men were left deep in thought. They stayed silent for a while, until the Companion looked up and declared that he was hungry. They decided to have a short break and dismounted, leaving their horses to graze next to the road while they sat side by side on a flat rock a few feet away. Their simple meal consisted of bread, a few slices of smoked ham and an apple each as dessert. Wulf gifted the core to his horse, which immediately began searching his pockets for the next treat.

The main road was not the fastest way for them to get to the Western Watchtower that was today's destination. It was more comfortable than riding across the country, however, and much safer, as in the flatlands the greatest danger to their horses were not predators, but rabbit holes.

Some twenty minutes later they were ready to hit the road again. The watchtower came into view just as the last rays of the setting sun were bathing the brownish grasses of the tundra in a pink light. They reflected off the stone structure, blindingly bright against the dark blue horizon. Much like on Wulf's travel with Vilkas the soldiers bid them welcome and stabled their horses while the Companions were invited to join the evening meal in the mess hall. Farkas dug in like a starving man and Wulf enjoyed trading stories with the soldiers. This time they were given a single room with two cots and a washbasin the two men made good use of. Later Wulf bid his friend goodnight and enjoyed a night of uninterrupted, sweet sleep.

He should have known something was about to go wrong. Somehow, with Wulf in the vicinity, things always did.

The dragon attacked them in the morning.

Wulf awoke to the ringing of the bells and the heavy stomp of feet. Muted through their door he heard orders being shouted.

"What's going on?", Farkas croaked. In the dark Wulf heard the Companion shift and the bed creak beneath his weight.

"Dunno, I guess I better get a look", Wulf answered. The soldiers were ringing the alarm, but why? Were they under attack?

As it turned out, yes, they were. Before Wulf made it to the door, it opened and a man in full armour stormed in. His posture was rigid and his voice wavered when he announced that "There is a dragon attacking the tower!"

"Not _again_", Wulf groaned; a statement that made the soldier look at him surprise.

"Can it get into the tower?", Farkas asked, already up and dressing hurriedly.

"Not yet, though it may be just a matter of time if it decides to tear it down", the man answered and swallowed thickly. "We're assembling in the main hall to discuss further action."

"Go", Wulf urged him on. "We'll be there shortly." He too was buckling on his armour. Better not to face a dragon without it. Better yet not to face it at all.

The soldier gave a stiff nod and jogged away to find his comrades. When only a few minutes later they arrived, they were greeted by the sight of a dozen soldiers preparing for battling something none of them had even faced in their darkest nightmares. Four horses, including Wulf's and Farkas' own stood in the far corner of the room, shivering. Apparently a quick-witted guard had saved the mounts from the stables that were now ablaze.

The doors were locked and barred, but they did nothing to block out the sound; all could hear the thunderous roars now. The commanding officer's plan was a simple one: attack the dragon with bows and bring it down. Wulf cringed at the very thought. It hadn't worked in Helgen and he saw no reason why it should work now.

Apparently some soldiers saw it the same way. "We need to get word to Whiterun. Get some reinforcements", one man shouted.

The officer agreed and pointed at a guard who was barely a man grown. "Andel, you ride for the city. The Jarl _must_ be warned."

The boy nodded, wide eyed and moved to saddle one of the animals, but Wulf's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Take my horse. He's faster." Together they readied the black while Wulfryk gave the frightened boy some last-minute advice. "Leave behind your armour; it will only weight you down. Get out of here as fast as you can, then slow down. It's almost twenty miles to Whiterun, if you trot him you'll make it in a bit over two hours. Just don't blow him in a gallop too early, understood!?"

"Yes, sir!", the soldier answered and swung himself into the saddle.

When Wulf turned back to pay attention to the others, their discussion of the plan was already over. Farkas came over to brief him on it in a silent, but urgent voice while everybody formed a circle around the officer, who stood in the middle.

"All right, men", the commander shouted, clapping his hands to get the attention of his soldiers again. Wulf had to give the man credit: he was showing confidence and little fear. "We need to distract the dragon, give Andel here a chance to leave unnoticed. How about we turn that bloody lizard into a pincushion?" There were a few half-hearted cheers that neither Wulf nor Farkas joined in. "We will hold out and we will keep it occupied so it won't leave and attack Whiterun." There was a brief pause in which the panting breaths of humans and horses both rang out loudly.

At that very moment the earth quaked as something heavy landed close to the tower. They heard the jolt, _felt_ it in their very bones. The black horse pranced nervously and the humans shifted in discomfort. All knew what lurked behind the doors of the tower. The stonework did nothing to mute the roar that was followed by a loud thump.

"It's taken off again!", a soldier who was gazing through an arrow slit shouted from above.

This was it. Two guards began to remove the bolts that closed the door to the tower while their commander's voice rang out once more, rising in volume and heartening his men.

"Take courage! Take courage in knowing that you are protecting your families and our beloved city! That we have two Companions today to fight at our side! Take courage, for any that die today will rise to glory and they shall feast in the halls of our ancestors!" He took a deep breath "Victory or Sovngarde!"

Everybody joined in the old Nord battle cry and the sheer noise was overwhelming. "VICTORY OR SOVNGARDE!"

They left the tower, running in single file and taking cover where they could. The dragon didn't wait, it swept down and let loose its deadliest weapon: a fiery breath that missed its mark only because the two soldiers it targeted were quick enough to duck behind the corner. The dragon roared once more and gained height, lazily circling the tower until it settled on top of it. It would have been a good opportunity for all the archers to hit it, but they were all struck dumb when the huge beast chuckled and in a deep voice declared _"Brit grah. I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!" _

Wulf and Farkas were still in their tower, their task was to ensure Andel's safe escape. The Companion looked up at the sky as the dragon pushed off and began to circle again.

"Can I kill it now?", Farkas asked in the same voice children used when they wanted to know whether they could pet a puppy.

Wulf laughed. He thought he might have gone crazy. Or he was already in the grips of the battle-madness, where fear did not paralyze, but lent speed to one's actions. "You go ahead, Bright. I'll be right behind you."

Farkas didn't have to be told twice. With a mighty war cry he charged out of the tower, providing a convenient distraction.

Wulf knew there was nothing he could do or say to the frightened boy next to him, on whom their all survival hinged. So he just slapped his horse's hind flank sharply, muttering "Off you go, lad."

The horse and its rider stormed outside and Wulf followed, keeping an eye on the skies. There was a loud shriek from the back of the tower and somebody shouted "Hroki, NO!"

"_You are brave, Balaan hokoron", _the dragon spoke in an answer that was followed by more shouts and some fierce cursing.

Wulf didn't see what was happening, but he guessed enough to know that one of their own was down, not a minute into the fight. He flinched when he heard the beat of the huge wings, looking up all the time. The dragon sailed to the middle of the courtyard where it landed gracefully, about three hundred feet from where Wulf had dropped to crouch on the ground. It looked towards the road and snarled when it saw its prey was escaping. Farkas took that very moment to round the corner, but the Companion skidded to a halt when he saw the dragon swerve its head to stare at him with one fiery eye.

"_Thurri du hin sille ko Sovngarde!"_, it hissed and made to take off again, to pursue the one who was fleeing. After all, it wasn't like the others were going anywhere.

When it spread its wings and reared up, Wulf noticed something odd about it. The dragon was a grayish green in colour, but on one wing bore a strange discoloration. As if it had been wounded and had healed recently, still bearing the scar tissue. This couldn't be a coincidence. Wulf knew that dragon. He had encountered it once before, also on the plains around Whiterun.

And much like before, he had to stop it. Without any time for thought, Wulf shot an arrow at the giant lizard that hit it somewhere in the region of its belly and made it bellow in pain. Wulfryk waved his arm and pointed it at the dragon. "Hey!", he hollered. "Shut up or speak a decent language!" Taunting it worked like a charm, as it had once already. Maybe it recognised him as well.

"Wulf!", he heard Farkas shout, but he didn't turn his head to look at his friend, sprinting for the safety of some cover...only there was none. Behind him, Wulf heard the dragon swoop down, already imagined the searing pain from its hot breath upon his neck.

There wasn't anywhere else he could go. Dropping his bow, Wulf dove headfirst into the well. He felt the wave of heat pass over him, though his relief was short-lived; he soon found himself fighting for his life, as not to drown. His hands failed to find any purchase on the smooth, slimy walls and he tread the water furiously, the weight of his mail dragging him down. Farkas and another soldier with an impressive moustache fished him out, shaking and waterlogged, once the dragon had veered off, to vent his frustrations on the other guards.

There was no time for respite, however. Retching up water, Wulf picked up his bow again and together they went after the dragon, to pelt it with showers of arrows, only to run for safety once the beast attacked back. He did not know how long they played hide and seek with death. The dragon came after them seemingly tirelessly; not losing interest in its little game with the mortals.

They hadn't yet found a way to do it any serious harm, let alone to bring it down. All they did was infuriate the beast further, because while the arrows didn't penetrate deeply enough to do any serious damage, the feeling must have been similar to being stabbed by countless needles.

At some point Wulfryk found himself once more in the tower, barricaded in with Farkas and two remaining soldiers, Moustache and Shaking; both named for obvious reasons. He still had his magic, feeble as it was, though he wasn't yet desperate enough to try using it. Besides he doubted that the dragon would fall for the same trick twice.

Andel was long gone and the greater part of the guard, including the commander, was dead. Their greatest hope was to wait and to hope for reinforcements to come from Whiterun.

xxxx

The dragon Mirmulnir had settled on top of the tower, basking in his victory over the mortals that covered behind their walls and licking the small wounds he had received. Through they stung, the mortals' teeth of iron were still such feeble things. He would let them live for a while longer, because when he finally killed them, watching their hope die would be so much more satisfying than their frail bodies expiring.

He knew they had called for aid. Good. He couldn't wait to have his fun with the newcomers.

xxxx

It could have been minutes or hours later that the brazen ring of trumpets announced the arrival of the garrison of Whiterun. The soldiers had come in eight wagons that were drawn by four horses each. They were being led by none other than Jarl Balgruuf's own housecarl, a Dark Elf woman named Irileth.

Moustache opened the door to greet and warn them. "Careful! It's still here, somewhere!" Maybe it was the man's voice that drew the dragon's attention or maybe it had just been bidding its time. "Kynareth save us", he muttered and tiredly added "Here it comes again!"

"_Krif krinn. Pruzah!" _The dragon's voice thundered across the plains.

What followed was a slaughter. It was Helgen all over again, the smell of burning flesh and the screams of the dying, all drowned out occasionally by the dragon's laughter.

The battle turned quickly in the monster's favour and not even the Dark Elf's magic was enough to stop it. Apparently it had learned from its encounter with Wulf and never paused, always in motion, always a threat.

The few surviving soldiers soon were scattered and in hiding as the ones before them had been. The entire fight left a sour taste in Farkas' mouth. How were they supposed to fight, if they couldn't even reach their enemy? He wasn't one to despair easily, but things looked pretty bleak. He wouldn't go as far as saying it was hopeless, though that might be closer to the truth.

Farkas had lost sight of Wulf some time ago, but he trusted his friend to stay alive. When last they had spoken, Wulfryk had wanted to get the lay of the land; count the men still standing, organize them in some way. He had been gone now for a long time.

Wulf held his sides. They hurt. He couldn't stop the shaking, couldn't take off his mind from the cramping of his stomach or the way his breath wheezed out of his lungs with every spasm.

He had climbed to the top of the tower. His intention had been to cast a quick glimpse at the people below, to see how many soldiers were still standing. It had been a good idea, up to the point when the trapdoor had snapped shut. Now, he couldn't open it, which left him trapped at the top of the bloody tower with a damned dragon flying about.

He would have cried, if he hadn't been laughing so hard.

Predictably, the cheerful mortal drew the dragon's attention after a while.

_Thump_

At first Wulf couldn't see anything.

_Thump _

The top of a scaled head came into view between the merlons of the tower.

_Thump _

The dragon folded its wings, landing lightly in front of the mortal. It had seen many reactions to its presence in time. But never, _never_ had anybody dared to make fun of it. This one man did and he had also been the one to severely damage its wing, rendering the mighty dovah earthbound. That alone meant this mortal fought more bravely than any of his pathetic friends. The action at last merited acknowledging before the dovah would turn him into a smoking pile of ash.

"_You die by Mirmulnir", _the dragon spoke._ "Farewell, Mortal. Your defeat brings me honour." _

"Go fuck your tail, lizard!", Wulf chortled in a last act of defiance, straightening himself. This time there really was no place for him to go. A jump off the tower would kill him for sure. Or leave him crippled for live.

He saw the dragon pull back its lips, either in a hideous smile or a grimace and open its jaws wide.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The heat was terrible, as was the high-pitched screech when flesh melted under the fiery onslaught, when eyes turned into a milky liquid, to drip down scaled cheeks.

Wulf took a step closer to the thrashing reptile.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The words came from deep within him. He knew them, knew their meaning. They had been used against him by his foes and now he would give them a taste of how it was, having their own powers turned back on them.

The blast of force caught the dragon high in the chest and it toppled backwards, its claws raking against the stone of tower before it lost balance and went over the edge.

Wulf could hear its enraged and downright bewildered scream,_ "Dovahkiin?!", _before itshuge body smote against the ground at the foot of the watchtower, making the whole structure tremble.

He didn't know when or how he found himself at ground level. Wulf didn't notice the soldiers that gasped in astonishment as, out of nowhere, their sheer invincible foe was brought down.

He did see the dragon bite a overhasty guard in half, saw it burn two more alive, as it slowly turned over, getting back on its feet. Its wings had been crushed by the weight of its massive body falling on top of them and it was blinded, but all the more dangerous for finally being wounded.

They approached it carefully, making a huge racket to confuse the dragon, so that it sent its fiery breath the other way. But the beast still had claws and teeth and they were a weapon just as deadly.

Wulf was saved from the huge jaws when Farkas stabbed his sword into the vulnerable spot where the dragon's belly joined its leg. He saw the lizard's head whip around and miss him by inches, saw it swish its spiked tail, outright killing one man and sending several others flying.

Another thing Wulf was conscious of was the sound Farkas' body made as it crashed into the tower, after sailing a couple of feet through the air.

And the last thing he remembered was raising his sword and running at the dragon, screaming like possessed in a language none, save for the dragon understood, not even he himself.

xxxx

"Let's make sure that overgrown lizard is really dead", Irileth suggested tiredly though none of the soldiers seemed particularly eager to approach the huge carcass.

With a shrug of his shoulders that nobody saw Wulf stepped forward. He was pressing a sleeve to his face in order to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. The dragon looked pretty dead to him with his blade stuck right up to the hilt in its empty eye socket. Wulf propped his left foot against the beast's head, grabbed his sword with both hands and began to pull.

"What's happening?", one of the soldiers suddenly cried out with worry.

The dragon's body had begun to glow faintly until with a low crackling sound the cadaver caught fire. Wulf cursed when the flames licked up his boot, though he didn't feel any heat. He put his entire weight into the next pull and with a wet sucking noise the sword finally pulled free, releasing a small torrent of liquids that dribbled out of the wound. The blade itself was covered in ichor and grayish brain matter and other things Wulf didn't need to study any closer. By now the entire dragon was wreathed in white flames that tore at its flesh, melting it off the bones before the eyes of the onlookers.

"Everybody, get back!", the Dark Elf commander ordered.

Everybody did. Except for Wulf, who watched as his skyforge steel greatknife caught fire as well, evaporating the dragon's blood and leaving the blade almost stainless. Weird, that there was no heat from this strange fire. It was almost as if it called to him, beckoning him to come closer. Wulf never felt it when the flames flashed over to him, but he was blinded by their bright light and he heard the other men's shouts of distress as he was buffeted by a gust of wind that had picked up from nowhere.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Without the light of the fire the world seemed to be a darker place. In front of the small group of soldiers there lay the dragon's skeleton and a very much unharmed Wulf stood next to it. Although with his head throbbing and the strange sense of giddiness that overcame him without a warning, he did feel like he had consumed too much of the Bannared Mare's 'special brew'. His nose was still bleeding, he could feel the blood running down his face, could taste it on his lips. When Wulf's vision cleared at last, he noticed the soldiers looking at him like they've never seen another human being before.

Moustache stepped forward half a step, as if he was magically drawn closer to Wulf. "You...", the soldier stuttered, pointing a shaking finger at the Nord. "You...you...you...are dragonborn!"

As if that was supposed to mean anything to Wulf. He'd rather not be compared to one them sodding lizards, thank you very much. When the soldier kept staring at him, Wulf felt his patience growing thin. "Did you just insult my mother?", he barked at the man who stood as if petrified, blinking only at the harsh words.

Wulf followed it up by "Just so you know, I'm sure she was a perfectly respectable lady, not a fire breathing lizard!" Maybe. Then again she had dallied with his father at some point.

"In the very oldest tales", Shaking explained, "Back from when there still were dragons in Skyrim, the dragonborn would slay them and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? You took its power."

"Ermm..." _What?_

Moustache suddenly came back to live. "There's only one way to find out. Try to shout", the soldier prompted. "According to legends, only the dragonborn can shout without training, like the dragons do."

Wulf had done his share of shouting; they all had. His throat was sore from it, in fact. Or maybe it was the burns from the jet of flame he had unleashed upon the dragon that he was feeling. Perhaps the man was onto something with that 'dragonborn' nonsense, after all.

When Wulfryk failed to react in the desired way, another guard joined the debate that had suddenly sprung up, but he was quickly silenced.

"My grandfather used to tell stories about the dragonborn; those born with the blood of dragons in 'em, like old Tiber Septim", Moustache said.

Shaking frowned in answer. "I've never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons."

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot! They're just coming back now for the first time in...forever." All men shared a look of discomfort. They were the survivors. If this was what they would have to face from now on, then may the gods have mercy on their souls.

"But the old tales tell of the dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power", somebody else threw in. "You must be one!"

Wulf didn't feel powerful. He felt tired, sore, filthy and somewhat unsteady on his feet.

"What do you say, Irileth?", another soldier addressed the housecarl. "You are being awfully quiet."

Wulf turned to look at the Dark Elf and though he covered his mouth by a hand be didn't bother to lower his voice when he said "I think your soldier's brains got melted."

"Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this dragonborn business?"

The Dark Elf woman shook her head before replying. "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about." She looked first at the remains of the dragon, then at Wulf and continued confidently "Here's a dead dragon and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know that we can kill them." Looking each of her men in the eye she finally stated "I don't need some mythical dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."

There was a chorus of mutters and a few soldiers nodded their heads.

"But you can't", a new voice spoke up all of a sudden. "Only the dragonborn can kill a dragon once and for all."

Farkas limped into the circle of soldiers who had formed around Wulf. He was using his greatsword as a crutch, although he seemed otherwise unharmed; his armour had taken the brunt of the impact.

Still, Wulf moved to his side and he saw the big warrior cast him a grateful smile when he could throw an arm around his friend's shoulders for support.

Moustache vigorously nodded his agreement, before turning to Irileth "You wouldn't understand, housecarl. You ain't a Nord."

Wulf was Nord and he had to admit he didn't understand much of what had transpired, either.

Irileth visibly bristled at the soldier's words. "I've been all across Tamriel. I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this", she countered coldly.

Never, in all his travels across Tamriel had Wulf seen anything that bordered on this. Maybe he should stay out of the depths of Morrowind, just for future reference.

"I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends." With those final words the housecarl ended the argument. She ordered the soldiers to tend to the wounded and the fallen and obediently they left, though many cast curious glimpses in Wulf's direction.

Once they were out of earshot, Irileth approached the Nord who had saved the day. He didn't look like a legendary hero. He looked like a man dead on his feet and suffering from a bad case of nosebleed.

"Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here", she addressed the Companions. She couldn't order them to come to Whiterun, but she could ask.

Irileth saw both of them shift nervously and exchange a meaningful look. "I see I better give you some time to talk things through", she sighed. "I'll take my leave now. Come to me when you have reached a decision."

They had survived. Somehow, the fact only now began to register with Wulf. All across the tower grounds guards were milling, shouting the names of their comrades, waiting for an answer. Wulf turned his gaze away. He had seen enough pointless death for one day. "How are you?", he asked his friend in a gentle voice.

"I'm fine", Farkas replied though he had to grit his teeth because of the pain. "Are you hurt?", the warrior wanted to know of his shield-brother. Wulf shook his head in negation.

They sank down on a nearby boulder and Wulfryk began to undo the straps of Farkas' breastplate. "Let's get you out of that armour and take a look."

Thankfully, the Companion's torso was only badly bruised with a cracked rib or two. The real problem was his leg, where one of the spikes of the dragon's tail had ripped a deep gash into Farkas' thigh. Wulf could see the ragged edges of torn muscle and the white of bone underneath. With an injury like that his friend wouldn't be going anywhere and they both knew it.

But..."I can heal it", Wulf suggested and just barely caught himself from poking the wound.

"Really?" Farkas stared at him wide-eyed. "You can do magic?"

"No, Bright", Wulf grinned "I'll kiss it and make it better."

Farkas never had any magic done on him, mostly because Vilkas distrusted magic and disapproved of its use and the big warrior always followed his brother's lead. Only, he couldn't let Wulf go on on his own, but he didn't like the idea of turning back either. Oh well, he guessed there was a first time for everything.

Wulf summed up their problem when his friend didn't answer straight away. "The question is: do we want to go back and lose two days – at least - or do we continue? In the four days it'll take us to reach the cairn I can heal your leg, but it'll knock me out for the duration of the journey."

Farkas pondered his choices a moment longer and finally answered "We continue."

"All right." Wulf rose and clapped Farkas on the shoulder. "I'll go and tell Irileth."

The housecarl wasn't happy with their decision, but she did nothing to stop them. Irileth even gave them a cart and two horses for the journey and promised to take Farkas' mount back to Whiterun where Wulf's horse was stabled already. She wouldn't need the cart, many of the soldiers who had arrived today wouldn't be returning.

"Here, this is something I want to give you for your services", Irileth said and put a small vial of colourful glass Wulf's hand, closing his fingers around it.

"What is it?", he asked.

"A potion", the Dark Elf explained. "My mission here was to gather intelligence, but I wouldn't watch my men die without taking action. The Jarl will be displeased", she sighed and tapped the vial. "This will render you invisible for a short while. The potion is almost priceless, so use it wisely." She cast him a small, tired smile "I imagine it might come in handy sometime."

"Thank you", Wulf answered, surprised.

"No. It is I who must thank you. Will you stay for the night?", the housecarl enquired.

"Pardon me saying so, but I really want to get as far away from here as possible", Wulf replied.

She nodded and they clasped hands in parting. Within half an hour Wulf and Farkas were on the road again and though darkness had begun to fall, they would rather camp out on the plains than spend one more night in that accursed tower.

Wulf had used his healing magic on Farkas once they were out of sight from the watchtower and the wound looked better already, but it wasn't gone. As Wulf had said, it would take four days to restore the Companion to full health.

To distract himself from the throbbing pain in his leg, Farkas talked. "What do you think will Vilkas say when I tell him I almost killed a dragon?", the Companion mused.

Wulf had a fairy good idea of what the man would do. "I imagine he'll curse you for a fool and threaten to tie you up and never allow you to leave Jorrvaskr again."

"You're probably right", Farkas grumbled.

After the day's events they were both too weary to travel on, but too worked up to go to sleep. They had simply spread their bedrolls in the cart and were now lying down, gazing at the sky and listening to the sound of their horses grazing.

After a while of silence Farkas spoke up again. "I never thought that my friend would be the dragonborn." He turned his head and Wulf could see his pale eyes reflecting the starlight.

"Do you know what that means?", Farkas whispered.

"Erm...no?"

"Huh", Farkas huffed, yawned widely and scratched his head. "Neither do I. You should ask Vilkas when we get back."

Wulf chuckled, infected by Farkas' yawn he cracked one of his own. He wasn't planning on telling anybody, although watching the other Companion's jaws drop might be worth it, he thought and closed his eyes.

Several miles behind them, in the city of Whiterun, the call of the Greybeards went unheard by the very person it was supposed to reach.

* * *

**AN:** I guess that dragon was...struck speechless.

Ufff, another battle. Now I feel like _my_ brains got melted.

I know that Wulf shouted without absorbing a dragon soul first. There's an explanation for that, but (by now you must hate the following words) you'll have to wait for it. =P


	16. Chapter 15

I have a lot of work to do and once again I've had no incentive for writing. But then I read some reviews and bam! inspiration struck.

My very special thanks go to OpalBee and Springinkerl. You guys are absolutely awesome!

I'd also like to thank all my other readers, especially those who revieved and faved this work, but also those who are simply enjoying the story and whom I can't name. To put it simply: Thank you all for reading!

* * *

Farkas clucked his tongue at the team of two horses that were drawing their wagon and the animals picked up their pace eagerly, falling into a light trot. For five days he had steered them northwest, in the direction of Dustman's Cairn. Going like this was slower than on horseback, but he was glad they had decided against riding, even if he had to slow down often, forced to walk the horses to prevent the cart from clattering over uneven patches in the road and maybe even breaking an axle in the process.

Besides, it was much easier with Wulf, who was lying in the back, fast asleep. As promised, he had healed Farkas' leg and today, on what was the last day of their journey, it was almost as if the injury had never happened, save for a small scar. The Companion still felt a slight tingling in it occasionally, especially when he moved to cover down, but compared to how badly he had been off a few days ago it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

In fact, Farkas was more worried about his friend than he was about himself. Although Wulf had explained to him that the magic would wear him out and even though the other man claimed to be fine whenever he woke up, Farkas could see that he wasn't. At least he ate anything the Companion handed him, if only to fall back into a deep slumber afterwards.

It wasn't just that a grown man shouldn't need to rest for days on end. Wulf had been also suffering from recurring nosebleeds, combined with spells of dizziness that made Farkas wonder if he had received a blow to the head.

On one occasion his friend had managed to nearly scare the Companion out of his mind. Farkas had turned around to check on his shield-brother and had been pleasantly surprised to see Wulf was awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The sun was behind his back and Farkas was blinded by it, but when Wulf removed his hand he thought he saw his clear blue eyes had turned into bottomless black pits. It was enough to send his heart pounding, though he would have been willing to pass it off as his imagination, had his friend not begun to speak.

_"Vust mu helt fah jol? Zu'u don't fraan rem eyvir, I'm bahlokus ahrk Zu'u praag wah relieve dimaar." _

"Wulf?", Farkas asked with something akin to fear in his voice. "I...I don't understand you."

Enemies he could deal with, though this...he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do or say. Was there a special procedure one followed when your friend acted like he was crazy? Or, in Wulf's case, more crazy than usual?

Wulfryk stared at him for a while longer, blinked and very slowly and clearly he said "I was asking if we could stop for a while. I don't feel too well, I'm hungry and I need to relieve myself."

Farkas complied with his wish and thanked any Divines he could think of, because the words were in Nord and because – he had assured himself of it countless times since the incident – Wulf's eyes were back to their normal blue. He watched as his friend listlessly nibbled on their supper and pondered how he would address the matter on his mind. But Farkas' strength had never been words, and so he just burst out with the truth "Before, you...you were speaking dragon."

That certainly got the other man's attention, although Wulf didn't appear to be troubled by the news as Farkas was.

"Farkas", he answered tiredly and with a heavy sigh he explained "I don't speak dragon. It was probably Ta'agra that you've heard, the Khajiit language."

The words had sounded like those of the dragon, but if Wulf said it was Khajiit...then it probably was, Farkas thought and decided against pressing the matter. After all, he wouldn't know the difference, not being familiar with either language. Soon after they mounted the cart once more and Farkas took his position on the box while Wulf crawled back into his bedroll.

Today, three days later, Farkas was glad that no further strange incidents had happened. His friend was feeling better and awoke more often and he no longer was speaking in exotic tongues.

The Companion watched the road, until they took a wide bend and a single barrow came into view, rising above the surrounding flatlands. He whistled softly and the horses slowed down and their cart came slowly to a rumbling stop.

Farkas turned around and over his shoulder he said "Look Wulf, we're here."

There was a rustling of parchment and a moment later Wulfryk appeared next to him, studying the round shape of the cairn. "Doesn't look very inviting, does it?", he asked the big warrior at his side. "Let's find us a place to make camp, the last barrow I went into, it took me some time to get back out again."

"The horses will need water", Farkas agreed and lightly slapped the reins over the animal's rumps and the carriage lurched into motion again. They drove through a small and ancient looking graveyard, where twines of nightshade had wrapped around the crumbling tombstones, as if to either hold them together or devour them. It smelled of damp and rotting foliage and both men were glad to leave it behind, as the place gave them the chills.

A suitable camp side with a small brook and some shrubbery as a protection against the elements came into view just a few minutes later. Together, they unhitched their horses and Wulf tied them to the cart and rubbed them down while Farkas lit a fire and began to prepare their dinner. The Companion had shot a young buck two days ago and they now had plenty of fresh meat, which meant they could leave the dry rations for their exploration into the tomb.

After eating they packed for the morrow and turned in early, and for the first time since they had set out from the watchtower Wulf awoke feeling well rested, albeit still a bit groggy. Farkas had a good laugh when his friend tried to put on his shoes the wrong way and got pelted by the offending garments.

Wulf knew from past experience that without having to perform any further healing the exhaustion would wear off soon. A quick bath in the icy water of the stream helped to clear his head and when he finished dressing he felt almost like his old self again.

He had little doubt they would encounter unpleasant things in the tomb and thus he put on his full gear, which consisted of a shirt, a woollen doublet as padding, a shirt of mail and a heavy leather jerkin on top, as well as leather trousers that provided more protection than ones made of cloth, greaves to shield his shins and knees and gauntlets and vambraces for his forearms.

Wulf never wore full gear unless he knew he was going into a fight and usually the leather armour was enough, but much like on the day of the dragon attack, today it couldn't hurt to be fully equipped. Not if what they would encounter here was anything like it had been in Bleak Falls Barrow.

Although all of his equipment was versatile, Wulf was especially proud of his shirt of mail, which was of a particularly clever design, one that he had copied from the warriors of Elsweyr. The shirt was covered by elongated metal plates that overlapped; offering similar protection to a chain mail. However, each piece of plate had been carefully tied down and buffered in a way that allowed Wulf to move soundlessly, without any metallic clinking. It had cost a fortune in both gold and the time it had taken to craft, but Wulf had never regretted making the investment.

Farkas' armour was essentially the same that his brother wore, its main piece a breastplate with an elaborate wolf design, forged by none other than Eorlund himself.

The two warriors finished donning their armour at about the same time, shared a look but no words and then the only thing they had to do before setting out was to move the cart and horses to a new spot with fresh grass and to make sure that the animals were tied down properly, with a thin leather band between their halters and the rope. Should any predators attack, it was better if they tore free than if they were eaten.

The hike up the hill took no more than half of an hour and without a warning Wulf and Farkas found themselves standing before the entrance to the cairn, a circular cavity in the top of the hill, with stairs set in its outer perimeter, leading downwards in a circular fashion. Water dripped off the stone and thick growth of moss hung from the edges of the treacherously slick steps. They carefully made their way downwards, their balance not the best due to the heavy packs they carried.

At the end Wulf was happy to have firm ground under his feet without either of them having twisted an ankle during their descent. Farkas was rubbing his thigh that had begun to throb somewhat from the strain.

"Are you all right?", Wulf asked his friend with worry. He hadn't healed Farkas today, because the use of magic would cost them one more day and besides, he had believed that the Companion's wound had healed almost entirely. Apparently he had been wrong.

"Yes", Farkas assured the Nord at his side and indeed there was no strain in his voice. He scratched his leg, rubbing the scar tissue forcefully. "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. It just itches."

"Leave it!", Wulf reprimanded him, not for the first time.

He put down his pack and retrieved from it the poles and oiled rags they would need inside the barrow. Something else rolled out of one of the bags. A small vial, the one Irileth had given him almost a week ago. Absent-mindedly Wulf pocketed it, putting it into a small pouch that was tied to his belt. Better not to lose such a valuable gift.

He proceeded to make the torches torch and handed the Companion next to him one as well.

Farkas took the offered extra torch and the pieces of cloth and fastened them within easy reach, watching as his friend retied and shouldered his pack. "You know, I've never had any magic done on me", he confessed.

Wulf looked at him with evident disbelief. "Never?", he asked.

Farkas shook his head. "No. Vilkas doesn't like magic much", he explained. "He doesn't trust it." And as it had always been, Farkas had followed his twin's lead, not ever questioning his decisions.

"I noticed", Wulf snorted, recalling Vilkas' reaction when during the dragon attack he had revealed that he knew some magic. Though Farkas had helped him understand his brother a great deal, that part was still a mystery. Furrowing his brows, Wulf enquired "Why, if I may ask?"

"Our parents were killed by magic", Farkas said simply.

For once, Wulf found himself at a lack of words. What could one day in the face of such honesty? He doubted it was a topic either of them wanted to discuss, so he steered their conversation in another direction "But you don't hate it?"

The Companion only shrugged his shoulders and responded "Why should I? Magic is a weapon. As is a sword. Had they died by it, I wouldn't be blaming the blade." After a moment of consideration he resumed "I'd blame the person wielding it."

For one more moment they remained silent. Farkas hadn't been intending for their talk to drift in this direction. He now felt somewhat guilty, for burdening his friend with events long past. Trying to make it up to the other man, he cautiously offered "But your magic...it's not bad. It kind of tickles."

The tension eased when Wulf laughed out softly. "Thank you, Bright." After another few seconds of silence he sighed heavily, pointing in front of him, at what both men had ignored up to this point. "Well, here's the door", Wulf remarked dryly. "Do we want to?"

Farkas' answer was as direct as ever, with the big warrior having missed the sarcasm in his friends' voice. "No. But we have to. Might as well get over with it." That much at least was true.

The door to the cairn was a very old, rusty thing that stood slightly open. Behind it, the darkness of the barrow seemed impenetrable and for the briefest moment Wulf considered turning back. He had done his share of crawling around in ancient ruins. But if this was the only way for him to become a Companion...then so be it.

With a deep breath he entered the underground structure, the cool, damp air like a blow to the face. Behind him, Farkas followed his tread heavy and slow.

They stood still for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness after the bright light of the day. Soon, Wulf could discern shapes in the gloom. Tall pillars and statues whose faces had been worn smooth centuries ago lined the walls, with parts of the decorations crumbled away. The first, lengthy hall led them to a large chamber with a stone table in the middle.

Farkas stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. At least that's what it looked like, though Wulf strongly suspected the Companion was trying real hard to suppress a sneeze. His own nose tickled from the dust their feet had raised by them walking through the debris. Looking around, Wulf noticed all kinds of objects strewn across the floor. Amongst heaps of empty bottles there were broken shovels and pickaxes and other tools used for mining. An open coffin leaned against the wall, with a bandaged body spilling out of it and across the tiles. This didn't bode well at all.

Farkas nudged half of a rusty spade with his boot. "Looks like somebody's been digging here, and recently." He wasn't any happier about it than Wulf was. Hopefully, whoever had invaded the barrow was long gone by now – and without the piece of Wuuthrad.

"We should tread lightly."

The Companion didn't know what was so very funny when Wulf began to chuckle.

They ventured deeper into the bowels of the earth, Wulf in the lead and Farkas behind. At first they didn't encounter anything, alive or dead, but instead of feeling relief, their unease only grew. Whoever had dug around had been very careful and without a shred of respect for the dead. Graves had been broken open with their contents lying around and the mummies carelessly tossed in a corner, where they were heaped, one upon the other. The sheer ruthlessness of the grave robbers was alarming.

The corridors continued straight ahead for a while, how long, neither Farkas nor Wulf could tell. Down here, in the dark there was no way to measure the passing of time, except by how long it took for their torches to burn out. Somewhen around the second rag they left the passageway and found themselves in what must have been the central hall of the dead. It looked similar to the one in Bleak Falls Barrow, with its stone biers that were arranged to form a small labyrinth. Thankfully, by how quickly they had arrived at this point, Wulf deduced that it wouldn't be nearly as big as the other one had been.

On the other hand, for some reason, this part of the tomb looked to be intact, the coffins were untouched and their contents undisturbed.

Which also meant that their residents probably weren't dead. Well, they were a bit, just not dead enough.

Farkas apparently had been thinking the very same thing when he spoke his warning "Be careful around the burial stones." He cast Wulf a sharp look, one that said he was being serious and finished "I don't want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back."

Wulf nodded his head in understanding. "I already met the charming inhabitants of Skyrim's barrows", he informed Farkas and sent a prayer to any divines willing to listen for them not to encounter any draugr.

With his shield strapped to his arm he could still carry a torch, whilst in his right hand he held his sword. Wulf's bow was unstrung and stowed away, as past experience had taught him that it wouldn't be of much use to against the unliving. Without making a sound he lead the way, his companion guarding his back, greatsword slung across the shoulder.

"Webs", Farkas suddenly hissed, a few minutes into their exploration.

"Yeah", Wulf acknowledged the fact with some humour. The white nettings were spanned across the roof and between the coffins, glistening wetly. "The place is probably crawling with frostbites", he joked.

But Farkas didn't laugh. When he looked back, Wulf saw that the Companion had stopped in his tracks. The whites of his eyes shone brightly in the flickering light of t he fire, his eyes roving frantically across the walls and roof. If Wulf didn't know any better, he'd say his friend was scared out of his mind. Which was absolutely impossible.

Only, the man who had charged into battle against a dragon without hesitation now looked like his feet wouldn't carry him another step.

"What's wrong?", Wulf asked. "You don't like spiders?", he taunted and saw Farkas give a full-bodied shudder, like a dog shaking water. It – it couldn't be.

"Wait." Wulf couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You're really afraid of spiders?", he asked in utter disbelief.

"I'm not afraid of spiders!", Farkas replied in a sullen voice.

"Yes, you are!", Wulfryk cried.

"Fine!", Farkas snapped. "They scare me! Are you happy now?"

"No!" Wulf remembered not to shout. Just. He was still agitated when, gesticulating wildly he argued "If you knew we were going to be going into some ancient ruins that are frequently occupied by spiders, I might add; didn't you think that might be something I should know about!?"

"What for?", Farkas threw back. "I'll still fight them", he countered. "It's just...they're revolting. It's the eyes. And the legs. And the way they skitter across the floor", he counted out and was seized by another violent shudder.

Ralof had said something similar, Wulf remembered. He was more fascinated now, than angry. "What about draugr?", he enquired of his friend with a great measure of curiosity.

Farkas blinked in confusion. "What about them?", he asked.

"Do they scare you?", Wulf wanted to know.

"No." The answer was quick and straightforward.

"Oh, good." Maybe Wulf could make Farkas feel a bit better about his fear. "How about I deal with the spiders and you deal with the undead abominations that frankly scare the shit out of me?", he proposed.

It took Farkas some time to understand and when he did it was his turn to stare incredulously at Wulf. "What's scary about draugr?"

"Farkas", Wulfryk began in a patient tone, making his point unmistakably clear, even for the Companion "If you make fun of me, I swear I'll find a baby frostbite and put it in your shirt when you're sleeping."

"You wouldn't...", the Companion gasped.

"Try me", Wulf threatened, dead serious. Lifting his hand he at last offered "Deal?"

Farkas grasped his hand and they shook on it. "Deal!"

"Just...", both men began at the same time.

"Don't tell anybody", they finished in unison. For one moment they managed to keep upright the serious facade before it crumbled and both broke out in peals of laughter. All of a sudden, Dustman's Cairn didn't seem as daunting anymore.

Things became serious a while later when they had a run-in with their opponents, both of the two and the eight legged kind. The fights were short, but intense as they stuck to their bargain. To give Farkas credit, he helped out once, squishing a spider the size of a lapdog beneath his heel, upon which he continued to cuss and wipe the sole of his boot for the next couple of minutes. Wulf set two draugr on fire when things got tight and complimented himself inwardly for not shrieking like a girl when a third one grabbed him from behind. His bellow had been very manly, as Farkas attested to, sniggering, and loud enough to – literally – wake the dead.

Ultimately, nothing stood between them and their further way anymore, save for a big, double door.

"Can you open it?"

"Probably." Wulf yawned widely. "But I don't think I can go much further right now." Frankly, he couldn't see straight anymore, which would make any attempts at picking the lock very interesting indeed.

His tiredness wasn't natural, he knew, but a lingering effect of the healing magic he had performed on Farkas. Maybe that was the reason as to why the big warrior didn't argue when Wulf confessed to needing some rest. The Companion didn't look to be exhausted at all, but a break wouldn't hurt him either.

"You want to rest here?", Farkas half-asked and half-suggested.

"We could lie down in the corridor, but..." some things went without saying "I don't fancy waking up to some draugr stumbling over me." He'd do more than scream, should that occur.

Wulf looked around for a moment, before pointing at the ceiling and saying "Up, in the rafters."

Farkas threw him a dirty look, as if asking whether he had lost his mind.

"What, you have a fear of heights, too?", Wulfryk teased.

"No." Though Farkas did have a healthy respect for them. "I once climbed Jorrvaskr", the Companion recounted. "Aela said I couldn't because its roof is round, but I did." Farkas' frown was lost in the darkness, but his silent mutter carried enough for Wulf to hear. "The hard part was getting down." It had taken Vilkas three hours to talk him into trying. He wasn't afraid to climb, he only preferred not to.

In the end, Wulf's determination prevailed over Farkas' aversion to climbing. He unburdened himself from his gear, fished out some rope and slung it diagonally across one shoulder. After assuring himself that the wood was in good condition, he scaled a support beam, nimble as a cat. Wulf tossed his friend one end of the rope and pulled first his, then Farkas' pack and weapons up.

The Companion followed, not nearly as graceful as Wulf, though his movements were still sure. There was a stone ledge next to the wall, broad enough that they wouldn't have to worry about rolling off. Once they had made themselves comfortable, Farkas even admitted that it was a good spot.

Wulf could only agree. "They never look up", he commented ominously.

Farkas thought it might be better not to ask too closely where he had gotten that piece of wisdom from. But he couldn't ignore the next thing the other man said.

"You do know that sooner or later we're bound to walk into whoever is digging around here and desecrating graves?"

"I know", Farkas said. "But we're prepared and they are not." He stretched out on his back and confidently stated "Besides, we're Companions. We can take on a bunch of filthy grave-robbers."

"You're right", Wulf agreed. After all, nobody except for the Circle knew that they were here. Something else was on his mind, though. "That scholar – think he could have told somebody else about Wuuthrad?"

"Maybe." Wulf felt rather than saw Farkas' shrug. "If he did, then there are several fractions that would benefit from the information. The Companions are held in high esteem throughout Skyrim, but we have enemies also."

"What enemies?", Wulf enquired with no small amount of interest. So far he'd yet to hear a bad word about the warriors of Jorrvaskr.

Farkas took his time to ponder the question before he answered slowly "Minor warrior guilds. Seeing the glory of the Companions diminish might raise their own. Bandits. The Silver Hand."

"Who's the Silver Hand?", Wulf threw in.

Farkas paused for a split second, let out a pent-up breath and continued "Bad people who hate all kinds of things. Werewolves, especially."

"You know, Bright, that would make them good people to most", Wulf chuckled. By now he had gotten used to his friend saying the strangest of things at times. He rolled over and extinguished their torch. Light giving away their position went against the very idea of having a hiding spot. The darkness that closed in around them was absolute.

Rather than listen to the sounds that were all around them and suddenly seemed magnified tenfold, Farkas kept up their conversation. His question was rather unexpected, though. "Do you miss your home?"

"Skyrim's my home, now", Wulf replied with a sigh. It was true.

"You know what I mean", Farkas pressed on.

"Yes", Wulfryk whispered. "I do miss Elsweyr. The weather is almost always beautiful there. It's full of deserts and rocky canyons and mile-long beaches of fine white sand that gently slope towards an azure sea", he told, almost dreamily. With his eyes closed he could see it in front of him, could imagine that the scatter of feet below them was the gentle rustling of palm leaves.

"You should go there one day", Wulf encouraged Farkas. "There are no giant spiders", he said with a smile. "Only scorpions", he added slowly in afterthought. In the dark Farkas missed the evil twinkle in his friend's eyes when Wulf opened them for one moment.

"What's a scorpion?"

"It's like a cross between a mudcrab, a spider and a wasp", Wulf answered in an innocent voice.

"Are you fucking joking?"

"No." It was a good thing Farkas couldn't see his grin. "Sweet dreams, Bright."

After a few hours of sleep and a hasty meal Farkas and Wulfryk let down their packs on a rope and slid down one of the smooth pillars that held up some support beams. They couldn't have been inside the barrow for longer than a day and night, but the sleep had done Wulf a world of good already.

The lock on the closed door wasn't worthy of being called a challenge, a huge old mechanism, it didn't last a minute against his lock-picking skills. Wulf grimaced in anticipation of a rusty squeak, but the double doors swung open soundlessly.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, an alarm bell began to ring.

He stood motionlessly, but Farkas stepped forward boldly and crossed the threshold and when nothing happened, Wulf followed hesitatingly. They had come this far, turning back was out of the question now. Why Wulf suddenly felt the almost overwhelming urge to run, he did not know. After all, the worst seemed to be behind them.

The two warriors found themselves in a big, circular chamber that was mostly empty.

It was also a dead end.

The only further way was blocked by a sturdy gate of bars that didn't look like it would bulge under the exercise of any form of physical force. Neither did it have a lock.

"Well, that's...not good", Wulf sighed.

Farkas walked up to where the other Nord was mustering the gate, his heavy tread echoing loudly in the spacious cavity. "There must be a switch here, somewhere", the Companion thought out loud.

"I didn't see one", Wulf responded "But maybe we missed something. Let's look around."

He put down his pack, there was no use lugging it around with him if they weren't going anywhere. The search took a long time, both men getting frustrated after a while when it seemed futile. Until Wulf stumbled over what had been right in front of them, hidden in the deep shadows. There was a niche with a lever that he had only spotted, because the metal had reflected the light.

"Found it", Wulf called, relief coursing through him.

There was only one evident way for them to continue their mission. Wulfryk searched the parameter of the alcove, but he found nothing that might indicate a trap. He still stood to the side and cowered down, when he activated the lever, just in case.

What he hadn't anticipated, was to be locked in himself. The bars descended out of the ceiling, effectively trapping him inside.

Farkas walked up with a heavy sigh. "Now look what you've gotten yourself into", the Companion chided his friend. "No worries, just sit tight. I'll find the release."

"I'll never hear the end of it", Wulf muttered.

"What was that?", Farkas suddenly spoke up from the other side of the room.

"Nothing", Wulf grunted.

"Not you...", Farkas looked around wildly. "The –", but he never finished his sentence, because at that very moment the gates that had blocked their further way had begun to rise.

It was at that moment that Wulf knew his suspicions had just been confirmed. Damn it, but he should have trusted his gut! Only the wish to become a Companion had kept him going, without Farkas he'd probably had turned back straight after opening doors. Now he stood, unable to help, and gripping the iron bars of his prison with all his strength as four people sauntered into the chamber. Three men and a woman, they were armed right to the teeth. And Wulf's bow was still strapped to his pack, which lay in the corner. Gods above, but they were screwed.

Apparently one of the men shared his unvoiced sentiment. "It's time to die, dog", he said.

We knew you'd be coming here", another man gloated, giving his sword a few swings.

"Your mistake, Companion", the woman spat.

They had begun to fan out, trying to encircle Farkas, who had slowly begun to back away. The big warrior was good, Wulf knew, but he wasn't good enough to take on four enemies at the same time. He wasn't alone, though. Wulfryk's sword might not be of much use right now, but his magic might be. He only needed one clear shot that would give his friend all the advantage he needed.

Their assailants appeared unconcerned so far. Seemingly without a care in the world they continued their conversation.

"Which one is that?"

"It doesn't matter. He wears that armour, he dies."

The woman laughed in delight. "Killing you will make for an excellent story", she addressed Farkas, whose back hit Wulf's prison with a clatter.

"Distract them", Wulf hissed urgently.

Farkas straightened. "None of you will be alive to tell it", he ground out and Wulf felt a grin spread across his face. Those cocky bastards were in for a nasty surprise.

Wulfryk drew up on his magic.

His concentration was interrupted though when Farkas did the absolutely last thing a warrior in his position should do: the Companion slowly lowered the point of his sword and then the mighty weapon dropped from his grip and hit the stone floor.

"What the hell are you doing, pick up that sodding sword!", Wulf shouted at his friend, not caring that he had just given away his position.

xxxx

But Farkas didn't listen. The presence of another person in the room distracted his attackers for long enough.

xxxx

Wulf would never forget what he saw next: when Farkas fell on his knees in what looked to be either defeat or agony, or maybe both. When his arms began to elongate and thick hair sprouted on them, his shoulders broadened and his hands turned into claws. When his armour fell off and the pleasant features of his face began to twist into a snout.

When the thing that now stood before him no longer was a man.

Suddenly, Wulf was really glad there were solid iron bars between him and the monsters out there. Which one he needed protection from, he wasn't entirely sure. Probably the one that had been Farkas. Nothing should have this kind of savage strength like the werewolf did, as it tore into its surprised adversaries. The overzealous woman died with her throat ripped out before she could even lift her sword and none of her buddies fared any better.

It was over within the blink of an eye.

The werewolf – Wolf couldn't bring himself to call it Farkas – cast him a quick look, probably already gauging its next meal and loped off in the direction of the now open gate, but stopped when it found its way blocked by six more warriors. Well equipped and better trained than the first four none of them went down when the werewolf charged. Instead they evaded the attack and regrouped quickly, their various weapons trailed on their foe. They had bows that were of no use in close combat and swords and axes, and one had a spear.

A savage battle followed, the snarls of the beast echoing loudly in the empty space, only occasionally drowned out by the shouting of the warriors still standing and the cries of the dying.

At the end of it all, Wulf didn't know whether to feel relief or dread when one big guy slammed the butt of his mace against the werewolf's head, knocking it unconscious and successfully ending Farkas' transformation.

Maybe it was a good thing Wulf didn't have his bow. At the very moment couldn't tell whom he would have trailed it on.

"Newbloods never do the job right", a deep voice chuckled in dark amusement when the man saw that all four of their own were dead.

Somebody else raised a sword over Farkas' unconscious form.

"Wait!", a big man with dark skin bellowed. "Remember our orders! She wants them alive."

"What for?", the woman with the spear complained. "Only a dead dog doesn't bite."

"You want to explain yourself to _her_?", her friend reminded her.

"Nah. Best get him into some chains, and quick!"

They proceeded to tie Farkas up, but one man detached himself from the group and took a few steps in Wulf's direction.

"Hey, Evett, get your lazy arse over here!", the woman shouted at him.

"What about that one?", the man named Evett asked.

"He ain't goin' nowhere", the deep voice answered him. "Now, take the arms and heave, damn you!"

If they had known Wulf could do magic, they probably would have shot him on the spot. Now, they left him behind, watching helplessly as they dragged off the unconscious form of the man he had believed to be his friend; the tread of their feet and the light of their torches dwindling, until Wulf was alone, in the dark.

* * *

**AN**: Teehee, I bet you didn't see that one coming! And yes, this is where I bid the canon goodbye.

Oh, and the ancient Nordic is from the dragon language translator.

At least writing Farkas is so much easier than writing Vilkas.

I didn't go for 'Farkas is a cute, dumb puppy' and I hope you like (or at least find acceptable) my interpretation of one of our favourite Companions. He certainly isn't terribly intelligent and frequently has his facepalm-worthy moments, but I imagine him to be a lot more perceptive than most believe him to be. He also has a positive outlook on life and a light-hearted nature, which makes a nice contrast to Vilkas' contemplative and sometimes downright brooding personality.


	17. Chapter 16

They had taken the torches with them. In the pitch black darkness Wulf couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. His sense of hearing was keener now that he was robbed of his sight, however. Standing still he listened to the dwindling footsteps and counted out the seconds in his head. When nothing happened for a while he shakily let out the breath he had been holding. His heart was beating so rapidly in his chest, he felt the pulse in his neck and temples and his thoughts were in a jumble that sent his mind reeling. He couldn't accept what had happened as true.

That Farkas was – no, he couldn't think about that now. He had his own situation to consider. The Gods only knew what those thugs had planned for him. How long would it take them to secure Farkas? He might not have much time left before they returned. He had to get out!

'Get a grip, Wulfryk", he muttered and tried to ignore the way his voice wavered.

Wulf took a deep breath, telling himself to concentrate. He clasped his hands before him to stop them from shaking. 'Calm came with Focus', he had been told dozens of times by his former Altmer employer. Too bad the old Mer wasn't here now. Together, they had gotten alive out of countless scrapes, but today Wulf was on his own.

After a few seconds in which nothing happened, a pale, but steadily glowing orb of light appeared in the palm of Wulf's hand, growing in intensity and size, until it was bright enough to light the alcove he was trapped in. The magical light was one of the easiest spells, requiring but a fraction of energy of the simplest healing spell. Now that he had managed to summon it, Wulf would be able to keep it up for as long as he needed the light.

The very first thing he tried was to pull the lever, but it was stuck fast. Wulf's hope had been faint, he hadn't expected to get away so easily. He walked up to the bars and began to study them. They were sturdy and looked to be in a good condition and Wulf cursed as he ran his hands up and down the cold iron. He tried to lift the gate, but it wouldn't bulge as much as an inch. Too heavy to lift, the bars were also too thick for him to bend. He doubted he could blast them apart, either.

Maybe if he would have frozen them first, but unfortunately Wulf's mastery of cold destruction magic was limited to freezing liquids into small ice cubes. It was a great trick at parties but of little practical value. Besides, the fireballs would make a hell of a racket that would undoubtedly draw his enemies and the use of so much magic would wear him out. And any kind of lightening spell wouldn't be of any use against metal, either.

With every second that Wulf searched for a way out, he realized more and more that his situation was desperate indeed. He began to pace up and down in the confined space of the alcove, as if to escape the onslaught of panic that he could not allow himself to succumb to.

Something told him his captors wouldn't be interested in parley. Perhaps he could trick them, but it was a risk he'd rather not take, as the chances were high they would outright kill him without listening to anything he had to say. He was also beginning to wonder who 'they' were. One of the other warrior guilds Farkas had mentioned? Or the very Silver Hand that Wulf had asked about several hours ago? Divines, but this had turned from a regular mission to a catastrophe within minutes.

Swallowing hard, Wulf resigned himself to the fact that there was no escape. Not this time. He would have to wait for his captors to come and get him. Although he doubted they would believe him if he told them that he hadn't known about the whole werewolf-thing, it was worth giving it a try. Trade a few secrets of the Companions against his freedom. It might work, if he played it right. Or he'd end up just as dead as the six corpses on the floor that had been left where they had fallen. The presence of them fellows did nothing to cheer Wulf up, who suddenly noticed how very thirsty he was. To add to his bad luck, his water canteen was in his backpack, which was on the other side of the bars. It might as well have been back in Jorrvaskr.

Wulf hunkered down and began to search the small pouches that were attached to his belt for something to chew on. Swallowing spittle wouldn't quench his thirst, but it was better than nothing. He had some dry rations and a small healing potion on him and...

"_Shit_!", Wulf cursed avidly as something small fell out of his pouch and began to roll across the floor. He dropped the piece of dried meat he was holding and dove after the other object, falling flat on his stomach and reaching past the iron bars to catch it – just – on the very tip of one finger. For one moment Wulf didn't dare to move, afraid he might knock the small vial away, but he wasn't getting any closer to it by lying here. Slowly and with great care he rolled it towards himself, until he could grasp it safely.

He had recognised the vial the Dunmer housecarl, Irileth, had given him. What had she said? It made one invisible for a brief time. Wulf turned away to study the alcove he was trapped in once more. It wasn't entirely empty, there was a small stone table inside and some rotting furniture that he hadn't paid any mind before, believing them to be utterly useless. Now though...they might serve a purpose. Hope flared up in his chest once more and he allowed himself a small, tight grin.

A plan began to form in his mind.

xxxx

"Now don't make this any harder, come out and I promise we won't hurt you", a deep voice coaxed.

"Much", one of his friends added, setting off a series of muttered curses and 'shut ups!".

"Come out, now", the first speaker commanded. Wulf could hear that he was slowly losing his patience. Not that there had been much of to begin with.

"No", he shouted over his shoulder, stubborn as ever. "There's werewolves out there and draugr and spiders, not to mention your own outstanding selves. I didn't sign up for this shit! You want to talk, you come to me!", he insisted.

"We tried being nice, but you're not making it easy for us", another man said. "You leave us no other choice but to drag you out, whether you want to or not."

"Or you could let me go", Wulf called back.

"Not sure I can do that", the deep voice answered him in a conversational tone "After all, you brought us the dog."

"Yeah? You can keep him", Wulf shot back. "Just let me go, I won't make any trouble", he prompted, knowing full well that he wasn't making his situation any better. What he really thought was 'open that danmed gate!'

And finally, after so much arguing, they did, the deep voice telling one Roslyn to 'escort their guest out'. More like, to stab him and be done with it. When the bars began to lift with a metallic clatter, Wulf took a deep breath. This was the crucial moment he had been waiting for. He had managed to roll over the stone table and to pile the other debris around it, thus he was safe from arrows and hidden from the view of his captors. He knew they couldn't catch sight of him in the dark, but if they saw him just vanishing, they would simply let the bars drop and there was nothing he could do to prevent them from leaving him here to rot for all eternity. The very thought made his stomach turn.

The vial was small and there wasn't much liquid in it and Wulf swallowed half of it with a single sip. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. He shuddered at what felt like being drenched in icy cold water, only from the inside. That meant the potion was working, right? He sure as hell hoped so.

Wulf got up from his position on the floor behind the pile of debris and silently crossed to the other side of the alcove. He had hidden his sword and shield as well as he could, but if anybody looked closer, they would find it. It physically pained him to leave it behind, but he had no idea how that invisibility spell worked. If it didn't include his sword and shield, then he would be finished, he doubted the thugs would overlook a blade hovering in the air. Thus, he let it go, taking with him only what was already strapped to his body.

Wulf swore his heart stopped beating when the woman looked straight at him, but her gaze didn't linger, sweeping past him, unseeing. She was cautious, expecting an attack which also meant her going was slow. It might just give him a few extra seconds. He ducked beneath her spear and began to tiptoe through the chamber, his heart beating in his chest so loudly, it was a wonder the others didn't hear it. How long before the potion's effects wore off? Damn, but he should have drunk the entire contents of the vial!

Wulf was halfway through the room when the uproar started.

It began with the woman shouting "He's not here!"

Of course her friends didn't believe her and a heated, frantic argument ensued.

They were making enough noise to cover Wulf's escape. He began to run, the sound of his footsteps drowned out by the shouting of the warriors behind him. He burst through the doors that no more than an hour ago he had picked and continued onwards. His headless flight ended after a few hundred feet when the last rays of light from the chamber were lost in darkness. Wulf paused, breathing hard. Now that he was free, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Fright told him to run, to not look back and keep going, but his mind thankfully intervened.

Or maybe it was just that his fear of the draugr was greater than that of the brutes behind him. With his luck, if he tried to exit the barrow, he would blindly run right into the undead. He couldn't see without light and light would give away his position.

He had had a similar thought, right before going to sleep.

Back in the chamber, he could hear the warriors' argument come to an end and the tread of running feet echoed loudly through the corridor.

Was Wulf still invisible? He couldn't tell. There weren't many ways he could go; back was out of the question, as was onwards. That left...up.

Wulfryk jumped and grabbed the rough wood of a beam, pulling himself up with his arms and gripping the post with his legs, so he wouldn't skid right back down. He made it up just as the passage beneath him was lit by half a dozen torches, as the others correctly assumed that he couldn't have gone on, because that was the way from which the warriors themselves had come.

Throwing himself down on the very ledge he might have slept on, Wulf buried his face in his arm, trying to stifle the harsh panting breaths that were torn from him due to his physical exercise and the alarming situation he found himself in.

"He was there, we all heard him talk!", the woman shouted. They were patrolling the corridor three warriors abreast with weapons drawn.

"He must be here, somewhere", a man answered.

"You'll find him", the deep voice from before replied. "If that's the last thing you'll do. I shall see to it personally." He came to a stop directly beneath Wulf's hiding place. "Lock down the barrow", the leader ordered, "Post guards at every entrance and break open every damned coffin if you have to. Dog or no, we'll teach that little shit to fear the Silver Hand."

His speech was greeted with a chorus of mutters of acknowledgement. "I'll inform the others", the man in charge continued "And you begin searching."

Others? _Shit! _ How many more were there? The seven warriors beneath him broke up in pairs of two with the leader going back to raise the alarm. One pair searched the chamber and for a long while Wulf was confined to his hiding place. At the moment he had plenty of time to think about his situation. At least now he knew who those people were. The Silver Hand, the werewolf hunters. And it didn't help him one whit that he wasn't one of the monsters.

They had known, though. They had known what Farkas was. They had called him 'dog', a derogative for 'wolf', no doubt. One of the guys had even mentioned Farkas' armour. The big warrior _did_ have a breastplate with a wolf design on it, same as his brother and the other senior members of the Companions. Oh, Talos' hairy balls! There was no way Vilkas didn't know about his twin's condition. Gods, what if both of them were...

Of course they were!

'He wears that armour, he dies!' The words played through Wulf's mind time and time again, but a part of him shied away from the implications that came with it. What if it meant that Skjor and Kodlak...and what about Aela? And the others? Torvar, Ria, Athis and Njada, Vignar, his servant and Tilma?

Divines, what had he gotten himself into this time!? Wulf ran his hands through his hair and beard. A look downwards confirmed that four members of the Silver Hand were still nearby. Slowly, he sat up, still pressed firmly against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest.

'All right', Wulf thought 'Let's think this through rationally'. He began to redo the braids at his temples that were in danger of coming loose, because it gave him something to do with his hands.

First fact: Farkas was a werewolf.

Second fact: the Silver Hand were werewolf-hunters and enemies of the Companions, Farkas had said as much himself.

Third fact: they had known that the Companions would come for Wuuthrad.

Fourth fact: declaring enmity towards Skyrim's most renown warrior guild because of one of its members seemed a little excessive. Damn, but Wulf didn't like where this was going.

Fifth fact: The twins had come to Jorrvaskr at a very young age and were practically raised there by Jurgen and later by Kodlak. Wulf doubted that two kids could have kept the condition of at least one of them a secret. What had Farkas said? His brother had been sick, something that had almost claimed his life. Oh crap, this wasn't good at all.

Another thought came unbidden to Wulf's mind: He had had sex with a werewolf. Hell, not with the wolf, but the man, but still...! If he'd known, he might have run in the other direction instead of teasing Vilkas. By now he had managed to convince himself that both of the twins had a dark secret.

Even if they had contracted the disease at a later stage in their lives, it still explained a few things. The trouble Vilkas had sleeping, the acute hearing, his fondness for growling, even. The way he had behaved towards a pack of wolves when they had been on their way to the fortress in the Anthor Mountains.

Which was well and good, but it didn't help Wulf reach a decision concerning Farkas.

There were two magical diseases in Tamriel, lycanthropy and vampirism. The infected were rumoured to be poor, tortured souls that turned into beasts and at night they came to feast upon the blood and flesh of the innocent and unwary. Though few were unfortunate enough to ever meet either a vampire or a werewolf – and those who did didn't usually live to tell about it – an every child knew of the horror stories that went with those monsters.

Only...Farkas was no monster. Well yes, he was, but then again he wasn't. He was Wulf's big, icebrained, cheerful friend, who valued honour and loyalty as any Nord should. The friend who liked to chase after barmaids and who stole sweets from the kitchens. Who was afraid of getting scolded by Tilma and of spiders. Who spent hours training with Ria, Athis and Torvar, working hard to improve their form and who wore a ridiculous orange scarf with pompons because it had been a gift from Wulf.

It wasn't the conclusion Wulf had wanted to arrive at.

But he could not abandon Farkas to the Silver Hand. He owed his friend this much, at least.

Besides, the other Companions, and especially Vilkas would never forgive him if he abandoned a shield-brother. If they didn't know about Farkas' true identity they might not believe him and if they did, he had no excuse at all. Wulf wanted to turn around and leave everything behind, but he did not want to spend the rest of his days looking over his shoulder, waiting for either one of his former shield-siblings or his conscience to kill him.

So, Wulf to the rescue, it was.

Wulfryk told himself he was only doing this so he could personally kick Farkas' ass from here to Hammerfell for giving him such a scare, but this was one self-imposed lie he did not believe in.

He didn't have his sword, but he had his knife and it slid out of its leather sheath soundlessly. He cast another glimpse at the two members of the Silver Hand that were standing below, whispering agitatedly. They weren't looking in his direction. Wulf quietly lowered himself from his hideout.

His first victim died with her throat slit and her companion joined her before the woman's body hit the ground.

Wulfryk grabbed the corpses by their arms and one after the other he dragged them into the deep shadows of the corridor. The woman had a waterskin and he cut it off her belt, drinking deeply to quench his thirst. Wulf didn't pick up the fallen torches. Let them blind any potential attackers and hide him from sight.

Cautiously, and peering around corners he sneaked back into the circular chamber. His pack was gone, but his weapons were where he had left them. Sweet.

His first course of action was to kill the remaining four warriors that guarded the entrance to the barrow to make sure he and Farkas would have a way to escape and that it was clear. Wulf cleared his knife of blood and sheathed it, picking up his sword and shield instead.

The second course of action would be to create a distraction big enough for him to slip past the remaining warriors unnoticed and to free Farkas. He'd think of something underway. Wulf was a master of improvising, after all.

'Teach that little shit to fear the Silver Hand', eh? Soon they would realize that the tables had changed. He was the hunter now.

xxxx

Farkas lifted his head when the shouting began.

He had woken to find himself chained to a wall, suspended by the heavy fetters around his wrists. The Nord's head had lolled to the side and he beheld the solid manacles and chains that were bolted to the wall. He struggled to get to his feet, noticing the pull around his ankles and the rattle of his shackles.

Getting up felt like a small victory, even if Farkas was supported by the wall at his back. He was grateful for it, or he might have fallen over. As he stood there, he slowly became conscious of other sensations, like the cold floor under his feet. Or the fact that he was naked and chained to a wall. That part was important, so it bore repeating.

He wasn't dead though. That part was essential.

Farkas hissed in pain when the blood began to flow back into his hands after being cut off for a while. Sharp pinpricks of pain blossomed in his palm and fingertips and spread towards his lower arms, and then it became worse, because his hands began to itch and he couldn't scratch them. Farkas opted for making a fist and opening it to speed the unpleasant process. In addition, his head hurt, but he was otherwise unharmed. A few scratches here and there, he could feel the burn, but nothing life threatening. That in itself was unsettling. Why hadn't they killed him yet? The Silver Hand never spared any werewolves.

They had probably something unpleasant planned. Too bad Farkas did not intend to stick around for long enough to find out what it was.

He had heard of thieves who could escape any kind of cuffs within seconds, but there was no way his large hands would fit through the opening. He would have to settle for ripping the chains out of the wall and he began with it straight away, straining against his bonds with all his strength.

One of his captors noticed his unsuccessful attempts and sneered at him in disgust, informing his friends that their prisoner had woken, but overall the Silver Hand paid him little heed, seemingly preoccupied by something else.

When his wrists were rubbed raw and his strength began to waver, Farkas gave up on his break out attempt – for the moment. He looked around and wondered what had happened to Wulf. He hadn't been brought here and the Silver Hand wasn't in this state of agitation because of Farkas. Maybe Wulf had escaped. The Companion wouldn't blame his friend – though he had no idea whether he could still call the man such – if he left him here. He knew that the beastblood wasn't accepted outside of the Circle. Werewolves were feared and hated. It surprised the warrior how much the thought of Wulf detesting him hurt. He had genuinely liked the man.

At least one of them would get out alive. Farkas hoped that Wulf would take care of his brother; Vilkas wouldn't take the news of his passing well.

Before such gloomy thoughts could further poison his mind, a blood-curdling shriek tore through the barrow, followed by a loud, drawn-out howl.

"He's here!", a woman shouted.

"Let's get that dog!", a man next to her spat.

And then sheer chaos broke out when another warrior burst in and breathless he forced out "Draugr! They're attacking...in force! That bastard...", the man had to pause to gasp for air "Tied Evett, Roslyn and Ian up and woke every single, fucking dustman in this goddamn tomb!"

At once, all the members of the Silver Hand jumped into action and, arming themselves, they charged out into the battle against the undead to help their brothers-in-arms. Only two remained to keep an eye on Farkas; he hardly needed guarding, as he wasn't going anywhere at the moment.

Distantly, from the depths of the barrow Farkas could hear the ring of steel as swords clashed and the shouts and screams of humans dying. The Companion had to admire his friend's resourcefulness, although the cold-blooded act of setting up human bait for the draugr was enough to send shivers of dismay down his spine.

A soft noise made the Companion look up. The tiniest of pebbles skidded across the floor, making so little sound that even Farkas' sensitive ears could barely make it out. A heartbeat later Wulf's dark silhouette appeared in the doorway, sword and shield in hand.

The Companion's eyes slid to the two members of the Silver Hand, who were watching the wrong exit. He lifted two fingers and thought he could see Wulf nod.

With only the faintest whisper of leather on stone, his friend stepped into the chamber and began to make his way towards the two unsuspecting men.

His attempt at stealth was foiled by sheer bad luck when one warrior turned back to Farkas, undoubtedly to spew some disparaging remark. The man's eyes widened in shock when he saw Wulf, who promptly charged the Silver Hand with a fierce war cry, defeating his foe after a short exchange of blows.

The warrior's friend apparently was forsaken by courage entirely, because he left his comrade to die and ran.

Wulf didn't pursue him, he had to get Farkas out of these chains, whilst their enemy was distracted.

"Now look what you've gotten yourself into", Wulf said with a grin, clucking his tongue. He approached the Companion, who – thank the Divines for that – was in his human form once again. "Let's get you out of here, Bright."

"I didn't think I'd see you again", Farkas confessed and felt relief wash through him. Not because of his rescue, but because he still had a friend. One whom he owed an apology. "I hope I didn't scare ya", he tried, weary to breach the werewolf-issue.

"Nah", Wulf replied and began to pick the locks on Farkas' manacles "It's just a puppy, not a draugr!"

Both men shared a laugh that was cut short when Farkas heard another sound, that of approaching footsteps. Wulf was busy working on the last manacle on the Companion's right hand and didn't notice the warrior, the one who had run earlier, returning.

Farkas did and he cried out in alarm "Wulf, he's got a –", the big warrior heard the twang of a string let loose and Wulf's scream as the arrow hit him in the abdomen, just as the Nord had turned to face their foe.

The Silver Hand warrior's hands were shaking as he reached for another arrow.

Wulf fell to his knees, dropping his lockpicks in favour of supporting himself on his hand, the other gripping his left side. He no longer was making a sound, but his mouth was open in a silent cry.

The archer managed to nock a second arrow and drew the string taut. Wulf lifted his head and extended a hand in a gesture similar to that of surrender, only a fiery orb shot from his fingers to engulf their adversary.

Farkas watched in horror as the second arrow hit Wulf high in the shoulder, passing right through and striking the opposite wall with a loud clatter. His friend didn't get up again. The Companion saw the tears streaking his face and heard his laboured, irregular breathing.

And then the worst thing happened: Farkas heard more footsteps, the tread heavy and unhurried. "Wulf, you've got to open the last lock, somebody else is coming", the Companion coaxed, anxiously pulling on the last chain restraining him, but he couldn't reach his friend.

Wulf had done so much already, Farkas would get them out, he'd fight his way through the entire Silver Hand, if he had to. If only Wulf unlocked that one damned manacle.

Farkas saw a warm, golden light and recognized it for what it was: healing magic. He knew how exhausting the magic was, saw it drain his friend's last reserves. It didn't stop the bleeding, but it must have dulled the pain, because Wulf managed to roll over and to crawl to where he had dropped the lockpicks. Farkas used his free hand to help him to his feet, holding his friend up, when the other man's legs buckled.

Wulf gripped his lockpicks with a desperate force and inserted two into the keyhole.

"Don't bother", a deep voice said suddenly, the tone deceptively kind and belied by the action of the man drawing a silver sword.

They had run out of time. Wulf rested his brow briefly against the Companion's shoulder. Farkas felt the tremors that ran through his body, smelled the blood. They were close enough that it smeared across his bare chest.

There was nothing he could do. Shield brothers were supposed to protect each other. "I'm sorry, Bright", he heard Wulf's silent whisper.

Wulfryk raised his own blade in answer to the threat and the other man chuckled mirthlessly. They all knew he didn't stand a chance, injured as he was.

Farkas gripped the last chain that held him prisoner with both hands and, stemming his feet against the wall, he began to pull at it with a desperate force. But the shackles remained in place, the bolts screwed too deeply in the stonework to give way. He stopped his futile attempts, cursing and praying, both. But the gods didn't listen that day.

It was painful to watch, the way the Silver Hand warrior took apart Wulf' defence, ultimately knocking the blade from the dark haired man's grip, before kicking the legs from out of him. Wulfryk went down hard, all breath leaving him and the pain of having his wounds jarred so badly nearly knocking him unconscious. He rolled to his side, eyes scrunched shut in pain and curled up, trying to protect his injuries.

His enemy's sword came to rest against his neck, pushing deeper, drawing blood. Wulf tried to ward it off, gripping the blade in desperation, but the sharp edge sliced through the leather of his gauntlets, biting into his palm and slickening his grip with his own blood.

Wulf opened his eyes, to cast one last look at the man who stood above him and the other one, for whom he was now suffering. He hoped his last action would be worth it.

Farkas wasn't sure what he saw then, as the Silver Hand warrior went rigid, all muscles tense until he began to shake and foam formed at his mouth. When Wulf's hand fell away, the man too fell, lifeless.

And then it was over and Farkas was left powerless to help. He could not say how long it took until the rest of the Silver Hand began to file in, fewer than there had been at first by half and many that were injured. There were gasps and shouting as the men and women realized what had happened, that their quarry had almost escaped, playing them all for fools.

One man kicked Wulf's prone form hard, right in the spot from which the arrow was protruding. The body turned over, onto its back, but there was no reaction from the man. No cry of pain, no clenching of a fist, not even the flutter of an eyelash.

"Dead", the man proclaimed with a satisfied smirk he directed at Farkas.

But for once the Companion didn't pay attention to his captors.

He had come back for him. Wulf had come back for him in spite of everything that had happened and it was the Companion's fault they were here, in this fix. Because he was so goddamn _stupid_.

Farkas fixedly stared at the man lying at his feet, tried to see anything, but how Wulf's life blood flowed out, to collect in a growing puddle around the man's motionless body.

Anything, but those blue eyes, that stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

Farkas watched his friend for a sign of life, praying for a reaction: movement, the rising of a chest, a groan.

There was nothing.

_Dead. _

* * *

**AN**: And here it goes: Wulf, you shall rescue Farkas...not.

All credit concerning the phrase "It's just a puppy, not a draugr!" goes to Springinkerl. I just _had_ to use this!


	18. Chapter 17

Hello, Katestar98! I'm glad you like the story, thank you for letting me know, your review absolutely made my day =)

* * *

"Lydia! Lyyydiaaa!" Signy's excited shout carried across the training grounds that were located behind and slightly below Dragonsreach.

For a single heartbeat Lydia paused mid-swing, then twisted her sword to the side, dodged, spun and impaled the practice dummy upon her blade. Another kill after a fierce fight against the straw man. The warrior grinned with joy at the battle, even if it was only in practice. Not that she needed much of that, after all, her imaginary enemies were always so much better than her real ones.

She stood, breathing heavily, and brushed a few stray hairs out of her eyes, running her forearm over her sweaty face. It was a frosty morning, but she had been swinging her sword for the better part of an hour now and did not feel the nip that was in the air. Although if she did, Lydia would not have let the cold affect her; the warrior was tough, even for a Nord. One didn't become the guard's best by spending one's time in front of the hearth.

"I'm here", Lydia answered, more quietly than she'd intended to due to being out of breath and followed it up with a loud "Over here!"

When Signy immediately spot her, Lydia stepped forward and waved, and then her friend was practically flying down the steps. The redheaded guard skidded on some gravel and came to an abrupt stop, almost knocking Lydia over in her hurry. Her spirits not dampened in the least, Signy was all but bouncing on the spot.

"Lydia you won't believe it!", the other woman began.

Lydia smiled indulgently, wondering why her fellow guard was so flustered.

Signy was small for a Nord, but sturdy, her bulk coming from muscles and fat in equal measure. Nobody would suspect that the cheerful redheaded girl with pigtails was deadly with any kind of weapon, a warrior with the heart of a mountain cat. And, not easily excitable.

Both women were guards of the Jarl's Keep there wasn't much they had not seen, but apparently today was one of these rare days when something really noteworthy had actually happened. Lydia didn't have to wait long to find out what it was.

"Irileth has been asking for you, the Jarl wants to see you", Signy continued, gesturing animatedly for her friend to follow her.

"All right", Lydia answered. "Just give me a few minutes, I'll have a change of clothes, I'm all sweaty." And with a sniff she confirmed "And I stink."

"There's no time", Signy interrupted "They want to see you _now_!" And with those words she grabbed Lydia by the hand and began to drag her across the courtyard, in the direction of the keep.

"Wait, my sword...", Lydia protested, futilely reaching out for the hilt of her training weapon and missing it by inches.

"You can put it away later", Signy countered without slowing down, "Give that poor dummy a break."

They rounded a corner in the courtyard and cut short their way by trampling right across the Keep's well-maintained lawn, avoiding only a cluster of half-wilted plants that looked to be pretty done in by the cold already. A stone path took them to a corridor with high arches and a staircase that wound up and from which Dragonsreach could be entered through a back door. Signy had the keys and when she pulled them out, Lydia used her friend's distraction to pull her hand out of the other woman's grip. Which was bone-crushing, by the way.

"All right", Lydia stated, crossing her arms so she wouldn't be dragged along once more. Signy had unlocked the door and was motioning for her to pass through, but Lydia refused, asking instead "What is it you're not telling me?", and tapping her foot. Signy was terrible at keeping secrets and Lydia wouldn't bulge before she had disclosed this one.

Signy sighed, giving up on forcing her stubborn, fellow guard along and making a long face she reluctantly answered "It's supposed to be a surprise."

"You know I don't like surprises", Lydia insisted.

"Always be prepared, even for the unknown", Signy quoted their weapon master and both women shared a grin.

"Fine", Signy finally caved in, her eyes roving across the empty courtyard. She closed the door she had been holding open to this point, but did not lock it and leaned against it, effectively preventing anybody from walking in on their conversation by accident. Beckoning Lydia to come closer she whispered "It's all very secret –yet.

The Jarl hasn't confirmed anything so far, but rumour has it there's going to be a new Thane."

"Says who?", Lydia wanted to know and Signy had to keep from banging her head against the wall, because her friend hadn't caught up to the most important part of the news.

"Ange", the redheaded guardswoman explained. "And she's got it directly from Vald."

Who was a drinking buddy of Hrongar, Jarl Balgruuf's younger brother.

"He'd know. So there's going to be a new Thane", Lydia mused and shrugged indifferently, but after one look at her friend she groaned loudly. "And I've just missed something, right?", she inquired of her friend who was regarding her with one eyebrow raised.

"Right", Signy replied. "And what's a Thane gonna need?"

"A house?", Lydia replied, not quite sure where this was going.

"And...", Signy prompted, waving her hand impatiently.

"Titles, a sign of his position", Lydia counted out, "A houseca-". She stopped suddenly and squealed loudly; a most un-warrior-like sound. "Oh, Gods!"

"Shht!", Signy silenced her with a dark look and Lydia immediately clasped her hands in front of her mouth, but now it was her jumping up and down in exhilaration.

"Are you sure?", she asked breathlessly when after a short while she was sure she no longer would crow like an adolescent girl.

"I don't know for sure", Signy reminded her, not wanting her friend to be disappointed should things work out differently, although it was highly unlikely they would. "But well, he's going to need a housecarl."

"I can't believe it", Lydia chanted. "I can't believe it."

"All right, we've dallied long enough." With those words Signy brought her friend back to Nirn and opened the door to the keep again, giving Lydia a small shove. "In you go. Oh, and I didn't tell you anything!"

Lydia put a finger to her lips to show her friend they were sealed tight, though she could not stop grinning. Turning her back to the door she walked up one flight of stairs, then down another and from there into the hall that was behind the Jarl's throne room. It was empty, which was not unusual; the guards were stated on the second floor, where the private chambers of the Jarl and his family were situated.

Lydia stretched out her hand and almost pressed down the handle of the heavy oaken doors that led to the throne room when, just in time, she realized one thing.

Divines, but she was still grinning like an idiot. She couldn't help it, she was just soo happy, but...she couldn't go in there like that. They would know that she knew and it wouldn't be hard to deduce who had told her...

"Stop it you dolt!", she told herself and bit her cheek, hard enough to taste blood. It didn't help though, as soon as she unclenched her teeth the huge grin returned. For a little while she tried unsuccessfully to regain her composure, but that damned smile just wouldn't leave her face. Great. Trying to suppress it, she's either she'd look like she had eaten a lemon, or maybe like she'd had great toothache.

"Keep it together, Lydia", the warrior muttered. "Think about something sad. Orphans. Drowned kittens." Damn, it still didn't work.

Why was she so worked up over something that she was not even sure was going to happen? Even if there was a new Thane, she might not be appointed his housecarl. Instead the position could go to a more experienced warrior. Wes, the Bold, for instance. Or that dumb cow Eren.

Now _that _thoughtwiped the smile right from her face. Finally. Such silly behaviour was unfitting for a warrior of her standing. It was unprofessional. Lydia sniffed. She was _this_ close to her greatest dream becoming true.

Well, standing here would not make her any wiser. She retied her hair into a ponytail and straightened her shoulders before entering the throne room. Her heart was hammering wildly and her belly churned worse than after a night of drinking, but her stride was confident.

They were all there. Irileth, a few other chosen guards, the steward, the Jarl himself. Signy had not been exaggerating, something was definitely afoot. As she came to a stop in front of the throne and saluted her Jarl, Lydia couldn't but notice that she was the only one not in formal attire. And she still stank. They were mostly warriors here, but the thought was not pleasant, nonetheless. Maybe Hrongar's smell would overshadow her own. Lydia swore that man never bathed, unless he was too drunk to navigate the front stairs and fell into the pool below.

Banning such thoughts for the time being, she said "My Jarl?"

"Stand easy, Lydia", Irileth, greeted her protégée.

Lydia had been training under the Dunmer warrior for the past years and her eyes wandered briefly to the housecarl before returning to Balgruuf.

Finally, the Jarl spoke up. "It won't take long, Lydia."

_Was that good or bad? _

"What you are going to hear here is not known in the Hold thus far. You have heard about the dragon that attacked Whitewatch Tower, I assume."

Lydia nodded her head. Everybody knew about the dragon, hell, it was all the soldiers talked about anymore.

"The man who had slain the beast, I am granting him the title Thane of Whiterun. It was my intention to appoint you as his housecarl, if you are willing", the Jarl continued.

'Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal', was running through Lydia's head like an incantation and miraculously she did not. Swallowing, because she found her voice suddenly gone, Lydia answered thickly "I would be honoured, my Jarl."

It was really happening. All she had ever dreamed about.

The Jarl and Irileth smiled, happy with her acceptance of her new position.

Balgruuf's housecarl briefed her on the man who was her Thane now. "A Nord with dark skin. Black hair, a beard, blue eyes. You may recognise him by his white war paint, a white, curved streak across his left brow. He is with the Companions, Wulfryk is his name. When I saw him, he was in the company of Farkas, they seemed to be on a mission. He probably hasn't returned yet."

"One more thing", Jarl Balgruuf pointed out when Irileth was finished. "There is word amongst the soldiers that this man might be dragonborn. I would have dismissed it as superstition, had I not heard the Greybeard's call myself. Our new Thane has a journey to High Hrothgar before him, you must ensure he embarks upon it. Until we have no more doubts, I do not want a single word breathed about a dragonborn, in- or outside the keep." The Jarl regarded everyone present with a stern gaze. "This applies to all of you."

Satisfied, when they all nodded, Balgruuf once more turned to Lydia. "Thank you, Lydia. I am sure you have a lot to prepare and that you are eager to share the news with your friends now." There was a small, knowing smile playing around the Jarl's mouth when he said these words. "I won't keep you any longer."

"How did it go?", was the first thing Lydia heard when she exited the throne room.

"Don't you have a post to guard?", she asked Signy, who was apparently bent on trailing her today.

"Yeah, I traded with Eren", Signy waved her off. "Well?!"

"Well", Lydia drew the word out. "I am a housecarl!", she shouted when she could keep the news in no longer.

"I knew it", Signy exclaimed and caught her friend in a crushing hug, the two of them laughing and squeezing the life out of each other.

They let go after a while, breathless and Lydia began to pinch her cheeks that had begun to cramp from the constant smiling. "Ow, ow, ow", she sang, closely followed by "What do I do now?"

"You go to Jorrvaskr and, well, meet him, I guess."

"Irileth said he might not be there", Lydia protested. Now that the time had come for her to meet her Thane she was feeling nervous all of a sudden.

"Only one way to find out", Signy said, shrugging.

"Ugh", Lydia groaned "I can't go there the way I am now. I've got to make myself presentable." She began to walk in the direction of the barracks and her small home where she planned on taking a bath and having a change of clothes. And maybe she'd polish up her armour a bit.

"Ha!", Signy snorted. "You mean pretty yourself up!"

"Hey!", Lydia shouted in mock-outrage and punched her friend's arm playfully.

"Don't you try to deny it." The redhead waggled a finger in the taller woman's face. "Not that I can blame you", she admitted immediately after. "A dragon-slayer, huh? Think he'll be handsome?"

"What does it matter?", Lydia asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable. She couldn't gossip about her Thane like that – or could she?

"Well, do you?", Signy continued, completely ignoring her response.

"I certainly hope so", Lydia replied, surprising even herself. "Though as I said, it shouldn't matter", she added hastily. "Here we are", she said, opening her door. "Wish me luck for later, will you?"

"Always", her friend replied with a wink and with a sigh she added "I guess I better return to my post now. Eight at the 'Mare, as usual?"

"I'll come, if I can", Lydia answered and waved goodbye.

"Good. Because I want to know _everything_."

It took some time, but finally the newly minted housecarl was ready. She was feeling better now that she had had some time to regain her composure. Somehow though, everything felt like a dream to Lydia at the moment, as she made her way through the Plains District and up, to the Wind District, where Jorrvaskr stood on a small hill, as it had done for centuries.

Born in Whiterun, Lydia had been raised on stories about the Companions. The warriors of Jorrvaskr were legendary, and not just because of the glorious deeds of the past. They stuck mostly to themselves, though. The Companions weren't exactly a part of Whiterun, the order of warriors was far older than the city. Whiterun wouldn't be the city it was without the Companions. It was almost as if the city partially belonged to the warriors of Jorrvaskr, although they had never pursued any political power, striving only for honour in battle and to uphold the legacy of Ysgramor, their founder.

All this ran through Lydia's head as she took the last steps to the mead hall, until she found herself in front of the heavy double doors that were closed against the cold.

Should she barge in and demand to see her Thane, which she had every right to do, by the way, or should she politely ask to see the man?

Lydia didn't want the Companions to think her weak, but she had manners, not many maybe, but some of them were deeply ingrained and thus she chose the courteous way and knocked.

The door was opened after a while by a tall, dark-haired warrior with cold eyes and a look of annoyance on his face, like she had just interrupted him doing something terribly important. A book was cradled in the crook of his right arm, so he couldn't have been too busy.

She knew him, of course, if by sight only. He was Vilkas, one of the senior members of the Companions, though he was still young in years. Gods, she was so excited to finally meet these people in person – and on equal grounds, now that she had been elevated to her new position.

"Hello, I'm Lydia", she began.

The warrior cast a depreciative glance in her direction and said in a bored tone "I'm not interested in your offer, we're not donating anything and if you're looking for work you'd better try at Dragonsreach."

And then the door closed in her face.

Lydia's smile was slowly replaced by a frown and her feeling of excitement by anger. She raised her fist and brought it down on the wood once more, not the hesitant knocking from before, but a firm thump. After a moment the door opened again

"Let's start this over", Lydia bit out, some acid creeping into her voice. "Hello, I'm Lydia, housecarl to the Thane, who is also a member of the Companions."

"There is no Thane amongst the Companions", Vilkas retorted straight away and moved to close the door again, but Lydia's foot stopped him from doing just that.

"There is now", she countered. "Since the Jarl appointed him an hour ago. I suggest _you_ go to Dragonsreach and ask him, if you do not believe me."

Lydia smiled sweetly when she had the satisfaction of seeing the warrior slightly taken aback. There, that'd teach him.

Vilkas shook his head and stepped to the side, allowing her to enter. "Apologies, housecarl", he said, polite now that she'd made her point. "I did not know you. We do not get many people knocking in these doors and those that do...", he trailed off and shrugged, leaving the rest of the sentence unfinished.

Lydia inclined her head, accepting the apology graciously. No reason to get upset about a simple misunderstanding. She was having a hard time to keep her eyes from roving over Jorrvaskr's interior. Instead she trailed them on the Companion in front of her.

"Now what was it you said about a Thane?", Vilkas inquired of her.

"Right. Two Companions were at the Whitewatch Tower when the dragon attacked. For killing it the Jarl has granted the slayer the title of Thane.", she said, all the while thinking 'What was his name again?'

Lydia did not expect to see the big warrior collapse into a chair next to the entrance. He was pale as a sheet and his voice slightly shook when he quietly asked "My brother?"

Realizing only now what she must have sounded like Lydia hurriedly hastily the distressed man. "They're both well from what I've heard. Declined returning to Whiterun and went on about their mission." She cast Vilkas a worried look, he had not responded well to the news at all. This wasn't how she had imagined the meeting to go.

"Is everything all right?", the housecarl enquired cautiously. "You seem...upset about the Thane."

"Because it's either my idiot brother...", Vilkas cried, slamming his book down on a small table next to the chair hard enough for the wood to groan in protest and after pausing for a heartbeat he quietly added " or Wulf".

"That's the one!", Lydia cried and clapped her hands.

Vilkas didn't speak or react in any other way for a while and when he did it was to get up and state with grim determination. "I'm going to kill him."

xxxx

They had killed him.

Farkas apathetically stared past the iron bars of the cage he was imprisoned in, his expression one of sorrow and grief. People died. Family, shield-siblings, friends. But never on Farkas' watch. Never. Until now.

He had been right there and had done nothing, unable to prevent the Silver Hand from killing his best friend. Later, he had fought them. When they had tried to put him back into chains, he had vented all his anger, all his frustration and all his anguish upon them.

All for nothing.

Though many of the Silver Hand would never rise again, in the end his resistance had been to no avail. There were just too many of them. Even now a dozen remained to escort the cart that was taking him to someplace unknown to Farkas. The going was slow. They only travelled during night and often without any light but that of the moons and stars.

The Silver Hand had a lot of people they'd rather avoid: travellers, soldiers, the Thalmor, even the Vigilants of Stendarr. A group of armed warriors escorting a naked man in a cage on a wagon would certainly raise suspicions.

Farkas might have no idea where they were going, apart from it being roughly in the direction of Whiterun, but the Silver Hand apparently had plans for him. He wasn't privy to them, though.

All the Companion could think about was that he had failed.

And now Wulf cold body was lying in the dark of an ancient tomb with the draugr and the spiders. Wulf had hated the draugr. He deserved a feast in his name and a proper burial, not to be left as food for the skeever. His grave should be on a hill with the sun shining down on it and the wind blowing through the grass. So that he would be warm when he looked down on the world that he had loved to travel so much.

Wulf's belongings, the pack, bow and skyforge sword had all been taken by one woman, after she won them in a dice game against her comrades.

Farkas had cursed the Silver Hand and they had laughed and told him it was his own damned fault. What hurt worst was that they were right.

Farkas hung his head in shame. Rain was falling from the skies in an endless torrent, plastering his hair to his face and washing away the traces of his mourning. With it, at least nobody would mock him for the tears he shed for his fallen friend.

He no longer cared about what was to happen to him. Farkas only hoped it would be over soon.

* * *

**AN:** Figured it was about time to introduce Lydia. I'm not crazy about her, but I do like her, though I can't help but imagine her as a bit girly. Not everybody can be a grim, hard-bitten, warrior, right? Or maybe it's just my headcanon.


End file.
